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WOMEN 


OF THE 

OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT: 

A SEEIES OF PORTRAITS. 


JUitli iCjinmteistit Utsttiptims, 


BY SEVEKAL AMERICAN CLERGYMEN. 


EDITED BY 

WILLIAM B. SPRAGUE, D. D. 


EIGHTEEN ORIGINAL DESIGNS ENGRAVED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. 


SECOND EDITION. 


NEW-YORK : 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BKOADWAY. 
PHILADELPHIA: 

GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-STREET. 

M.DCCC.LI. 


!Z)2.e 

1251 


> 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 


, , ■ 




TO THOSE 


WHO APPRECIATE THE BEAUTIES 

OF ART 

OR RELISH THE GRACES OF LITERATURE; 


WHO ADMIRE THE VIRTUOUS CHARMS 

OF WOMAN 

OR ARE WILLING TO BE ADMONISHED BY HER FRAILTIES AND DEFECTS 

WHO VALUE A KNOWLEDGE OF THE 

HUMAN HEART 


OR REVERENCE THE TEACHINGS OF HEAVENLY WISDOM; 

Cljis It^nrk 




IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 







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P E E F A C E. 

The publishers of the “Women of the Bible,” in consideration of 
the uncommon favor with which that work has been regarded by 
those most competent to estimate its merits, have been induced to 
offer to the public another of the same general character. As the 
former work was necessarily a mere selection from the female 
characters of Scripture, there were of course many which it did 
not embrace, of equal interest with those which it did; so that it 
was not a mere matter of gleaning, to gather the materials for a 
second work of the same kind. There is this difference, however, 
between the present work and the one which preceded it, — that 
whereas the former was confined to the characters which are supplied 
by the Old Testament, the latter has taken the larger number of its 
subjects from the New. 

The reader will at once perceive that these sketches are something 
more than a mere outline of the history of the individuals to whom 


8 


PREFACE. 


they relate. They aim to bring out those great lessons of truth and 
wisdom which, in some form or other, lie embodied in all these 
characters, and which are adapted to form the mind to virtue, useful- 
ness, and immortal felicity. 

The work, it is hoped, may prove a welcome offering as well 
to the cause of taste and literature as to that of virtue and piety. 
The publishers have put in requisition the talents of some of the 
best artists of the day, for the engraved illustrations ; and the Editor 
has been allowed to avail himself of the aid of some of the most 
distinguished of his clerical brethren, in respect to the letterpress 
of the work. He would gladly have included writers from some 
other Christian communions ; but the several applications which he 
made, owing to the numerous engagements of the persons applied 
to, were unsuccessful. 


CONTENTS 


SUBJECT. 

AUTHOR. 

PAGE 

THE VIRGIN MARY, . 

. W. INGRAHAM KIP, D. D. 

13 

SARAH, 

ERSKINE MASON, D. D. 

29 

ELIZABETH 

. W. B. SPRAGUE, D. D. . 

. 41 

MIRIAM, 

REV. CHARLES WADSWORTH, 

51 

ANNA THE PROPHETESS, 

. REV. E. N KIRK, .... 

. 61 

RAHAB, 

REV A. A. WOOD, 

77 

HERODIAS, .... 

. EBENEZER HALLEY, D. D 

. 91 

THE LEVITE’S WIFE, . 

N. S. S. BEMAN, D. D. 

105 

WOMAN OP SAMARIA, 

. RT. REV. J. P. K. HENSHAW, D. D. . 

. 119 

ZIPPORAH, 

JOHN TODD, D. D. 

133 

THE CANAANITISH WOMAN, 

. THOMAS SMYTH, D. D. . 

. 143 

THE WITCH OF ENDOR, 

SAMUEL HANSON COX, D. D. 

157 

DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS, . 

. WILLIAM B. Sprague, d. d. . 

. 167 

WIDOW OF NAIN, . 

RT. REV. J. H. HOPKINS, D. D. 

177 

MICHAL, 

. REV. J. F. STEARNS, 

. 187 

MARTHA, 

REV. ROBERT A. HALLAM, . 

203 

MARY MAGDALENE, . 

. NICHOLAS MURRAY, D. D. 

. 211 

BATHSHEBA, .... 

REV R. S. STORKS, JR. 

221 




LIST OF PLATES 


FROM DRAWINGS BY G . S T A A H L . 



SUBJECT. 


ENGRAVER. 

1. 

VIRGIN AND INFANT SAVIOUR, 

. w. 

H. EGLETON. 

II. 

SARAH \ 



III. 

ELIZABETH, 

. w. 

H. EGLETON. 

IV. 

MIRIAM, 

. 

B EYLES. 

V. 

ANNA THE PROPHETESS, . 

. . . w. 

H. EGLETON. 

VI. 

RAHAB, 


H. EGLETON. 

VII. 

HERODIAS, 


W. H. MOTE. 

VIII. 

THE LEVITE’S WIFE, . . . . 

. 

B. EYLES. 

IX. 

WOMAN OF SAMARIA, .... 

. 

W. H. MOTE. 

Xi 

ZIPPORAH, 



XI. 

THE CANAANITISH WOMAN, . 

. w. 

H. EGLETON. 

XII. 

THE WITCH OF ENDOR, . . . . 



XIII. 

DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS, 

. 

W. H. MOTE. 

XIV. 

WIDOW OF NAIN, 

. 

. F. HOLL. 

XV. 

MICHAL, 

• 

B. EYLES. 

XVI. 

MARTHA, 

. 

B. EYLES. 

/ 

XVII. 

MARY MAGDALENE, .... 

. 

W. II. MOTE. 


BATHSHEBA, 


XVIII. 


F. HOLL. 



THE VIRGIN MARY. 


BY W. rCfGEAHASI KIP, D. D. 

How beautifully does every truth connected with Christianity har- 
monize with its whole history and object ! A mission of love and 
peace and pm-ity, it presents to the mind nothing but images calcu- 
lated to advance the great moral end it has in view. Each minute 
circumstance, from the first annunciation of its Advent to the last 
expiring prayer of its Founder on the Cross, is something intended 
to sink into the hearts of men — to apjieal to their affections — and 
thus mould them into that gentleness and purity which are its own 
characteristics. 

So is it with the fact, that Christ was “ born of a pure Virgin.” 
It was entirely in accordance with the spirit of the faith He came to 
publish, uniting together female purity and maternal tenderness, and, 
as it were, consecrating both by their connection with Him who is 
“ the Everlasting Son of the Father.” We look to the mythology of 
the Greeks, like the character of its worshippers, imaginative and 
sensual, and we see how strictly it harmonizes with every revelation 
made them of the crowded hierarchy of Olympus. And so too the 
warlike Komans were restrained by no lessons of gentleness in the 
faith they had inherited. The fable which spake of their origin 


14 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


from the nursling of the wolf, found an echo in the hearts of those 
who prided themselves on being the tramplers-down of all other 
nations, and the flight of whose eagles nothing could withstand. But 
Christianity was to come gentle in spirit, and imbuing the minds of 
men with peaceful images. Such, therefore, were the characteristics 
which marked the Advent of its Author, and when in after ages His 
followers first raised in the Church at Milan, that lofty anthem which 
through all succeeding centuries was to be the Church’s triumphant 
song, they failed not to enumerate among their ascriptions of praise — 
“ When Thou tookest upon Thee to deliver man. Thou didst humble 
Thyself to be born of a Virgin.” 

It is only occasionally that we catch, as it were, glimpses of the 
Virgin Mary in the history of her Son. The royal line of David had 
sunk into insignificance, when in a period of intense expectation, while 
all men rested in the hope that the Messiah was at hand, because the 
very crisis of their political state had come, an angel appeared unto 
Mary, and announced that she had been selected as the favored 
Mother of the Lord. Afterwards, her cousin Elizabeth, “ filled with 
the Holy Ghost,” confirmed the same glorious promise. Then the 
Virgin burst forth into the Magnificat — that song of thanksgiving 
in which she poured out the overflowing gratitude of her soul. 

“ My soul doth magnify the Lord ; 

And my spirit hath exulted in God my Saviour ; 

For He hath regarded the low estate of His handmaiden : 

For, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed ; 

For, great things hath the Powerful One done for me ; 

And holy is His name : 

And His mercy is from generation to generation. 

Over them who fear him : 

He hath wrought strength with His arm ; 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


15 


He hath scattered the supercilious in the imagination of their heart : 
He hath cast down potentates from their thrones ; 

And hath exalted the lowly : 

The hungry He hath filled with good things ; 

And the rich He hath sent empty away : 

He hath succored Israel His servant ; 

In remembrance of mercy, 

(As He promised our Fathers) 

To Abraham, and to his seed for ever.” * 


It lias been remarked, that this is clearly the song of a Jewish 
•woman, familiar with the images of the Old Testament, and sharing 
in the prejudices of her countrymen and their earthly hopes with 
regard to the Messiah. The words indeed are susceptible of a spi- 
ritual meaning, and apply to that mysterious redemption which was 
afterwards to be wrought out ; yet the rejoicing over the scattering of 
the proud — the degradation of the mighty — the disappointment of 
the rich — and the exaltation of the humble — may well echo the 
triumphant feelings of one of the forgotten House of David, who felt 
that at last the day of deliverance was at hand, and in the hour 
of Judea’s greatest need, her proud oppressors were to be stricken to 
the dust. 

Then came the journey to Bethlehem, and the birth of the Son of 
God in the lowliness of a stable ; while without, at midnight, angel 
wings swept the illumined air, and shepherds amid their peaceful 
pastures heard that song of the heavenly hosts to which the dwellers 
in the stately palaces of Jerusalem were not permitted to listen. 
None from the neighboring city sought the lowly dwelling of the 
Virgin, but wise men from the East bowed in reverence before 


Bishop Jebb’s Version, Sacred Literature, p. 392. 


16 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


her, and presented gifts with which the inhabitants of the East 
were accustomed to approach the presence of a sovereign. Wonders 
seemed to crowd about her steps. The aged Simeon and Anna met 
her in the temple at the Purification, and while they spake of the 
future glory of the Child, prophesied also of the sorrow which should 
be the Mother’s lot, when “ a sword should pierce through her own 
soul also.” But “ against the Holy Child Jesus, Herod and the Gen- 
tiles were gathered together,” and they were obliged to seek safety in 
Egypt, remaining exiles from their own land until the threatening 
danger was overpast by the death of their oppressor. 

Twelve years pass away, dm’ing which we have no mention of the 
Vii’gin or her Son. At length they come up to the Feast in Jerusa- 
lem, and the Child is found talking with the doctors in the temple. 
Yet even thus early, in reply to His Mother’s mention of the anxiety 
of His father and herself for His safety. He takes occasion to remind 
•her of His origin — to disclaim the paternity of Joseph — and to assert 
His filial relationship to God. Then for eighteen years. longer the 
sacred narrative is to us a blank. The Holy Family were in retire- 
ment at Nazareth, and Jesus was subject to His parents. But Mary 
“kept all these sayings in her heart,” and how solemn must have 
been her musings during these long years, when she remembered all 
that God had promised, and yet beheld her Son living in the obscurity 
of His humble home ! How must there have struggled in her breast, 
the natural yearnings of a Mother’s love and the awful reverence she 
felt for Him whom she knew to be more than man ! 

Day 

Followed on day, like any childhood’s passing ; 

And silently sat Mary at her wheel, 

And watched the boy-Messiah as she spun ; 

And as a human child unto its mother 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


17 


Subject the while, He did her low voice bidding — 

Or gently eame to loan upon her knee, 

And ask her of the thoughts that in Him stirred 
Dimly as yet — or with affection sweet, 

Tell, murm’ring of his weariness — and then, 

All tearful-hearted, (as a human mother 
Unutterably fond, while touched with awe,) 

She paused, or with tremulous hand spun on — 

The blessings that her lips instinctive gave 
Asked of Him with an instant thought again.”* 

At last came tlie* time of “ His showing unto Israel,” but He en- 
tered on bis work unrecognized and unknown. The remembrance 
of the wonders which waited on His bhth had died away from the 
minds of men — the magi had been forgotten — and the aged Simeon 
and Anna had probably long since departed to the world of spirits. 
We may imagine with what anxious care the Virgin followed His 
steps in his painful pilgrimages through Judea, and rejoiced over 
each miracle which gave confirmation to her long cherished hopes. 
Yet in the only two instances in which she apj^ears in the narrative, 
it is not in the character with which later ages invested her — one 
all-powerful with her Son. At the marriage at Cana, the words He 
utters sound almost like a reproof ; and when again on another occa- 
sion it is announced — “ Behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand 
without, desiring to speak with thee” — He refuses to cease from His 
labor, but declares that He is bound to the great spiritual family 
which called Him Lord, by closer ties than to those whom the world 
recognized as his kindred. When the claims of earthly relationshijj) 
are pressed upon Him, He seems to retire at once into the unap- 
j^roachable Majesty of his own Divinity. 


1“^ .V 


* Willis. 


18 


THE VIKGIN MARY. 


There was one scene more in which we see the Mother of our 
Lord. It was at the Crucifixion, when in the midst of her bitter 
agony, she must have remembered the prediction which long years 
before Simeon had uttered. And beautifully is this brought forward 
in one of the ancient forms of the Church of England — “the Goolden 
Letanye of the Lyf and Passion of our Lorde Jesu Criste” — where, in 
tracing the pilgrimage of our Saviour, in its simple yet touching ex- 
pressions of sympathy with His divine sufferings, it thus introduces 
His Mother at the Cross : — 

“ By the grete compassion of thi hert, that thou haddist wen bering the Crosse thou 
mettist thi blyssid modir making most sorowe and lamentacion — 

“ By thi hevy chere and the goyng up of hey mounte of Calvarie where thou wert 
crucified — 

“ Bi that cold sittyng that thou sattyst pitiously, full of wondis in the colde wendes, 
so abydynge until thi Crosse was redy — 

“ For the lyftyng up of thi most holy body on the Crosse, and the sore braysyng 
thereof, that gave to all partyes of thi body an uncredible peyn — 

“ For the sworde of sorowe that whent throught the soule of thi blysid modir, and 
her grete compassion and teeres that standyng by the Crosse lamentably she shede — 
“ Inclyne most swete Jesu to us." 

But the last expressions beard from tbe lips of her expiring Son 
revealed His love for ber wbo bad been His earthly Mother. As she 
stood at tbe foot of tbe Cross, He commended ber to tbe care of His 
beloved disciple, “ and from that hour that disciple took ber unto bis 
own home.” And there she dwelt, an, object of reverence and love 
to tbe early Christian Church, until — as Eusebius tells' us — in tbe 
forty-eighth year from tbe bmtb of Christ, she departed to be once 
more with Him to whom she bad possessed so mysterious a relation- 
ship on earth. And this is all that we can gather from tbe records 
of Scripture or of History with regard to ber 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


19 


“ Who so above 

All mothers shone, 

The mother of 

The Blessed One.” 

The Apostles, one by one, were released from their warfare and 
entered into their reward — the last of those who had seen their Lord 
in the flesh, sank to the tomb — ages passed by, and there came a 
disastrons change over the spirit of the Church, The feeble wing of 
devotion, which could not rise to the throne of Divinity, sought to 
connect itself with lower and more earthly objects. Prayers began 
to be addressed to those whose names were written in the early 
annals of the Church, for sanctity or Christian heroism — apostles and 
confessors — and the members of that glorious company whom the 
Church commemorates as “ the noble army of the martyrs.” It is not 
wonderful therefore that the Virgin Mother of the Lord appeared to 
have peculiar claims to reverence, and soon many a prayer and hymn 
were addressed to her as Intercessor with her Son. The fitting 
reverence for her who was “ blessed among women ” insensibly 
deepened into adoration. It was a doctrine which suited the fervent 
temperament of the East where first it originated, but there was none 
to which every where the heart seemed so to cling or which it 
embraced with such passionate affection. Of the Son they could not 
think but in connection with “ the high and lofty One that inhabiteth 
Eternity” — there were often images of terror and sternness suggested 
by the view — but with the Virgin it was not so. All was gentleness 
and love when they turned to the Mother and Child, and there they 
found an object for those more earthly affections which mingled with 
their worship. The doctrine therefore became enshrined in the hearts 
of multitudes, and was developed in many a visible form in the rites 
and customs of the Church. It was a feeling, the workings of which 


20 


THE VIKGIN MARY. 


a Cliristian poet of our own day has beautifully portrayed, when he 
says — 

“ Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncrost 
With the least shade of thought to sin allied ; 

Woman above all women glorified, 

Our tainted nature’s solitary boast ; 

Purer than foam on central ocean tost ; , 

Brighter than Eastern skies at daybreak strewn 
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon 
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast ; 

Thy Image falls to Earth. Yet some, I ween. 

Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,. 

As to a visible Power, in which did blend. 

All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee 
Of mother’s love with maiden purity. 

Of high with low, celestial with terrene !”* 


The language of tbe early fathers often lent its influence to 
strengthen this feeling, and later generations have appealed to it in 
support of their views. And yet, it is often only the glowing words 
of Orientals, who, writing beneath a warmer sun than ours, seem 
um’estricted by the cold rules of ordinary logic, but show every where, 
in the impassioned vehemence of their expressions, the climate of those 
burning regions working m their language. They wrote, too, before 
heresy had been developed, and therefore assumed a freedom of ex- 
pression from which in this age we should "shrink. So it was with the 
ardent words of Irenseus, when he draws his parallel between Eve and 
the Virgin.f And yet, the primary object of much which he wrote 
on this subject was not to magnify llary, but, in opposition to the 


Wordsworth’s Eccles. Sonnets, xxi. 


t Iren. iii. 33, v. 19. 


r 


THEVIRGINMAEY. , 21 

Gnostic heretics, to prove the reality of the Incarnation. On the 
other hand, some of the earlier fathers use language which in the 
thirteenth century would have shocked the followers of St. Francis or 
St. Dominic. Thus, when Tertullian compares the Virgin with Martha 
and Mary, the picture is far most favorable to the latter, and he even 
insinuates that the Mother of our Lord shared in the incredulity of the 
rest of her family.* And even when most strongly stated, there will 
be found to be a wide difference between Patristic language and that 
employed by Romish writers. Thus, in the former, the benefits are 
said to be derived through her, because of her, according to the fiesh, 
Christ was born ; in the latter, they are attributed to her by virtue of 
the dignity siTice bestowed on her. In the fathers, blessings are spoken 
of as coming from her indirectly ; in later writers, directly. In the 
fathers, from her when on earth ; in Romish writers, from her in 
Heaven. In the early writers, from the Nativity of our Lord ; in 
those of the Church of Rome, from her sovereignty, rule, intercession, 
command, with which, for her merits, she is alleged to be invested.f 
Thus — in the language of Faber — they spoke of the Virgin of the 
Gospels, with their eyes fixed upon the mystery of the Incarnation ; 
whereas Roman divines speak of the Virgin in Heaven, with their 
eyes fixed upon her assumption thither. 

We can even trace the gradual development of this feeling in 
the progress of ancient art. For four centuries no delineations of the 
Virgin are found on the Christian monuments, nor is it until the sixth 
century that they become common. We discover none on the tombs 
of the early believers in the Catacombs at Rome ; nor among the Epi- 
taphs there do we ever read the petition addressed to her — Ora pro 
nobis. Devotion seemed to rise too steadily to the Divine Son to turn 


* De Came Christi, c. vii. t Pusey’s Letter to Self., p. 215. 


4 


22 


THE VIKGIN MARY. 


aside to His eartlily Mother. And when at length she became the 
subject of the painter’s art, it was only by successive steps that her 
image assumed a prominence among those objects of spiritual interest 
which enlisted his attention. At first, no attempt was made to portray 
the face of the Vii'gin, but she was always represented veiled, and the 
artist’s highest effort was to invest this shrouded figure with all the 
grace and modesty he could throw around it. “We do not” — says 
St. Augustine — “know what was the countenance of the Virgin.”* 
It was long before this veil was removed, and she was shown, as novf, 
smiling on the Child before her, mingling in her looks the holiness 
ascribed to her, with that maternal tenderness which must have 
been so deeply incorporated with her nature. When that stage was 
reached, injurious as may have been its influence in theology, as 
furnishing an object of popular worship, it proved the inspiration of 
aid. In striving after a divine idealism, the painter was raised above 
all earthly models, and reached the highest perfection to which 
human skill could attain. It gave rise to a school of Christian art, 
and of artists who were penetrated with the sublime dignity of their 
calling — men who 

“ Never moved their hand, 

Till they had steeped their inmost soul in prayer.” 


We can see this in the spiritual tendency of the old Umbrian 
artists, as they first developed that devotional style which afterwards 
gave character to the frescoes of Giotto, and attained its maturity 
under Eaphael. And now, as the stranger wanders through the gal- 
leries of the Pitti Palace at Florence, amid the thousand gems of art 
spread out before him, he will return again and again to the picture 


* De Trin., c. viii. 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


23 


of the Madonna della Seggiola, to pay his tribute of reverence there as 
many generations have done before him. There you behold the Holy 
Family, as nowhere else they have been shadowed forth by the 
painter’s imaginings. We turn from the earnest look of the Child to 
the chastened loveliness of the Virgin Mother, and feel that this is 
the triumph of Kaphael’s skill. He indeed, more than any artist that 
ever lived, has realized our loftiest conceptions in the high ideal 
character of his Madonnas. 

It would be interesting — did our space allow — to show the 
influence of this worship of the Virgin on the manners and feelings 
of social life during the Middle Ages. In that elevation of female 
character which then took place, and which gave the first impulse to 
reviving civilization, this was the most efficient instrument. The rude 
warrior who had been accustomed to look upon woman as a slave or 
a toy, formed insensibly a higher estimate of her sex when it was 
represented before him in the person of the Mother of his Lord, and 
he learned to value those traits of maternal tenderness and perfect 
purity, which the Church there held forth for his admii’ation. Thus 
were cultivated the gentler affections of our nature — those which 
enter into domestic life — until the whole face of society felt the 
influence of this new element, and what is usually ascribed to the 
spirit of Chivaliy, was in truth a result of the increasing worship of 
the Virgin Mary. 

And thus it was — as we have endeavored to show — the proper 
reverence which should be felt for the Mother of our Lord, aided by 
the poetic feeling which would commend it to many hearts, gradually 
expanded into adoration, and prayers to a new divinity became 
incorporated in the Liturgy of the Western Church. To so great 
an extent was this carried, that ^in the thii’teenth century a Florentine 
order arose, named The S&t'vanU of Mary — St. Philip Benizzi wrote 


24 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


for their use the Manual, called The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin — 
and St. Bonaventure twice paraphrased the Psalms in her honor. 
Long before this, churches had borne her name and been set apart for 
her particular honor. The first of these was the church of St. Ma/ria 
in Trdstevere in Rome, which was dedicated to her by Julius I. in the 
middle of the fourth century. It stiU stands in a retmed portion of 
the Eternal City — the mosaics in its facade representing the Virgin 
and Child — and the whole construction of the building telling of its 
antiquity. Its granite columns, some Ionic and some Corinthian, are 
evidently the spoils of heathen temples, for they stiU bear carved on 
their capitals, figures of Isis, Serapis, and Harpocrates. This example 
was eagerly followed, and now, there is not a town within the 
influence of the Church of Rome, where litanies to her are not recited 
and solemn prayers offered. 

But he who would see the honor in which she is held, must be at 
Genoa at the Festival of the Annunciation. This fair city of Palaces, 
meriting the title, la Superha^ bears inscribed upon one of her gates — 
“The city of the Most Holy Mary” — and when that festival has 
come, the whole population seems given up to a tumult of joy. 
Business is suspended — a bewildering harmony of bells and chimes 
rings out from every steeple and tower — churches are thronged — 
and every where the altars of the Virgin are covered with flowers. 
Each person bears a tulip to remind him of her, and through every 
street pass the long processions with waving banners and floating 
incense, while solemnly the old monastic chant floats upon the air, 
and is heard far over the blue waters of the Mediterranean — 

Ave regina coelorum, 

Aye domina angelorum, 

Salve radix, salve porta, 

Ex qua mundo lux est orta ; 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


25 


Gaude virgo gloriosa, 

Super omnes speciosa : 

Vale 6 valde, decora, 

Et pro nobis Christum exora. 


Hail Mary ! queen of heavenly spheres, 
Hail, whom the angelic host reveres ! 

Hail fruitful root ! Hail sacred gate, 
Whence the world’s light derives its date ; 
0 glorious Maid, with beauty blest ! 

May joys eternal fill thy breast ! 

Thus crown’d with beauty and with joy. 
Thy prayers for us with Christ employ. 


We have endeavored to trace a strange, yet melancholy chapter 
in the religious history of man, as he goes “ sounding on his dim and 
perilous way ” Yet the lesson we learn from it is a solemn one — the 
extent to which error may grow, when in our deepest interests we 
abandon the plain teaching of Scripture and of the Church in her 
earliest and purest days. 

But perhaps the view we have given has in it something of 
harshness, as, tracing the progress of a theological error, we have 
turned from the softer and gentler aspects of the subject. To another 
then we resign the pen, that she may complete this sketch, infusing 
into it something of that spirit which only woman in her gentleness 
can give. And if her thoughts shape themselves into the measures 
of poetry, perhaps this may be a more appropriate form in which to 
embody those lovely traits in the life of the Virgin, which have 
attracted the affections of every age, and thus realized the fulfilment 
of the prophecy — “ All generations shall call thee blessed.” 


26 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


I. 

St. Mary, Virgin ever blessed ! 

Beneath the Cross we part, 

At the dread moment when the sword 
Pierceth thy very heart. 

We part from thee amid the storm 
Of Jews’ and heathens’ rage, 

But once to see thy name again 
Upon the Holy Page.* 


II. 

Of the bright cloud of witnesses 
From Holy Writ that gleam, 

One face of meekness, love and faith. 
Dearer than all doth seem. 

Oh, who can marvel thou should’st be 
In ignorance adored ! 

Thou chosen one of all on earth ! 
Thou Mother of our Lord ! 


III. 

St. Mary, Virgin, how we yearn 
More of thy life to know ! 

A life of so much blessedness, 

A life of so much woe ! ' 

But God in wisdom hath not willed 
Such knowledge e’er should be ; 

Beyond the darkened blood-stained Cross 
We may not follow thee. 


* Acts i. 14. 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


IV. 

For forty days of ecstasy, 

We fed where thou didst roam, 

But long in vain to see the spot 
Which thou didst call thy home. 

Oh, that one glimpse to our dim eyes. 
One shadowy glimpse were given. 

To teach us that an earthly home 
May glow with light from Heaven. 


V. 

Perchance it was a lonely place. 

Men passed unheeded by. 

Who would have mocked, if told how near 
It towered to the sky. 

But there St. Mary thou didst dwell 
With the beloved one, 

Him whom our dying Christ had deemed 
Meet to be called “ thy Son.” 


VI. 

There, oft in early Christian times 
Were lifted heart and voice. 

As in your Saviour and your God 
Ye ceased not to rejoice. 

While still ye talked, day after day. 
With earnest tearful smile. 

Of Him who had departed hence 
For but a little while. 


28 


THE VIKGIN MAKY 


VII. 

Would we indeed of that bright spot 
One shadowy glimpse were given, 
To teach us how an earthly home 
May glow with light from Heaven 
Then let us seek the Holy Word, 
Which thou St. John didst write ; 
’Twill be as if that household blest 
Arose before our sight. 


VIII. 

Thy word were humble as thy home 
But for the light above ; 

Yet on thy page and on thy walls 
One word is beaming — Love. 
Many an earthly home might be 
Like that wherein ye dwelt, 

Did we but strive each day to feel 
The love ye ever felt. 


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S A E A H. 


BY ERSKENE MASON, D. D. 


Among the names which. adorn the pages of Old Testament history, 
not the least interesting, on account of the associations which belong 
to it, is that of the wife of Abraham. It is in this relation, that Sarah 
is first introduced to our notice, upon the sacred page. It is not, how- 
ever, merely a beauty reflected upon her from her husband’s name, 
which makes her an object of attention ; for independent of this rela- 
tionship, she is set before us, in a light in which she awakens interest, 
and excites admu'ation. K in accordance with the custom of ancient 
times, her name was given to her indicative of the qualities she .was 
supposed to possess, there is enough in the record of her life, and in 
incidental hiuts dropped in other parts of the Bible, to justify its 
appropriateness, and show her to have been a princess in reality, as 
well as in name. 

The power of female character, in every age of the world, has 
generally resulted from the possession of personal charms, or the 
exhibition of high mental and moral qualities. It is not usual to find 
both these sources of influence in the same person. Too often, the 
supposed or real possession of the former, is considered a sufficient 
apology for a neglect to cultivate the latter, — while a conviction of 
5 


30 


SARAH. 


their absence, is among the strongest motives to the attainment of 
mental and moral excellence, in such a case, the only remaining source 
of that influence essential in every cultivated society to female hap- 
piness. Of the two kinds of influence, none can doubt which is the 
preferable. The one controls us by appealing to the inferior elements 
of our nature ; the other, by acting on the higher attributes of mind. 
The one is transient, the other is permanent. The one, from its very 
nature, must be essentially selfish ; the other, spends itself in devotion 
to noble and lofty purposes of goodness. 

And yet they are not necessarily incompatible. They have been, 
and they now are, sometimes united in the same person ; and if the 
instances of their combination are rare, they are, when observed, only 
on that account the more beautiful. 

Among the examples of this kind, truth requires us to place the 
subject of the present bj-ief memoir. The entire narrative of the Bible 
concerning her, leaves an impression upon every reader, of Sarah’s 
exceeding beauty. The attention she every where attracted, and 
especially the admiration she excited on two different occasions, 
among the nobility of the countries through which she passed or in 
which she temporarily sojourned, are the recorded testimonies to the 
extent and power of her personal charms — charms which, while to 
many minds they may serve to throw around her a peculiar interest, 
will at the same time teach some useful lessons, as to the snares and 
dangers to which such possessions expose their subjects. 

Upon these, however, we do not dwell ; they sink into compara- 
tive insignificance in view of her nobler and more attractive qualities 
of mind and heart. Aside from the direct evidences in her favor, 
furnished by the fact that, in the sacred volume, she is presented to 
us as a pattern of the domestic virtues ; as one who, because she well 
knew her place and admirably met its responsibilities, is a bright 


SARAH. 


B1 


example to her sex,— aside from the fact, that she has been enrolled 
by an inspired apostle, among those of whom the world was not 
worthy, and that her name stands in the bright gallaxy of those who 
shed a light upon ancient times, and afford instruction to the present, 
by the illustrations they furnish of strong and intelligent faith, — 
aside from all this, there are not wanting illustrations, none the less 
beautiful and undecided, because they are inferential, of her high 
mental and moral qualities. 

Born and educated in Chaldea, under the influence of a false reli- 
gion, which always tends to cramp the intellect, enervate the energies, 
and debase the heart, she seems in a great measure to have escaped 
its power, or at least to have possessed sufficient nerve to break the 
shackles it had thrown around her. 

Her husband, likewise, was a Chaldean — “A Syrian ready to 
perish,” he is called by the prophet — and, though we cannot but 
honor the divine influence which animated and controlled him, and 
served to develope his character, we see in him a natural elevation of 
soul, evidences of a gallant spirit, showing a man of high-minded 
views, of noble and generous purpose, who compels our unaffected 
admiration. . Abraham, “ the father of the faithful ” and “ the friend 
of God,” was, in the best sense of the terms, a pure, elevated, magna- 
nimous man, the grandeur of whose character serves to demonstrate, 
and set in the happiest light, the superior excellence of his wife. 

She could not surely have been a woman of inferior, or even ordi- 
nary qualities of mind and heart, whom such a man could love, and 
with whom he could share his warm sympathies, and strictest and 
closest confidence. Flippant and vacant admirers may be caught 
(and even they cannot be permanently held) by the color of the 
complexion, the archness of the look, the arrangement of a ribbon, or 
the affected softness of the voice ; yet even their testimonies to female 


32 


SAKAH. 


influence, derived from sucli sources, are flattering nothings, ■wliicli 
cease to be uttered, or degenerate into contempt, when the factitious 
beauty has lost her, perhaps, artificial color, and laid by her affected 
smile. But no tinsel decoration could attract a man bke Abraham, — 
other and better endowments must belong to her with whom he can 
share his heart, or with whom he could live in the confidence of a 
permanent and happy association. Add to this thought another, 
taken from those usages of ancient Eastern society, which degraded 
woman to a position vastly inferior to that of the other sex, and what 
a testimony to Sarah’s excellence is found, in the fact, not merely that 
she was the object of Abraham’s devoted attachment, but the reposi- 
tory of his best and most secret purposes, a woman admitted to the 
closest intimacies of his heart, without whose knowledge and consent 
he does not appear to have matured a single purpose, nor taken a 
single step in life. How entirely, moreover, could she enter into all 
his views, sympathize with his spirit, and catching his own faith- 
inspfred enthusiasm, consent to break up all her cherished earthly 
associations, and unite her fortunes to those of one, whom a weak- 
minded, or less intelligent and less believing woman, might have 
considered a visionary or a fanatic. 

Harmony of character is essential to a rational union of hearts, 
and the confidence of Sarah and Abraham was mutual and perma- 
nent. Amid all the changes through which he passed, Sarah clung to 
him with the devotedness of her early attachment ; nor, after years of 
trial, did Abraham lose his interest in her, nor vdthdraw from her, in 
the least degree, his confidence. More than once did he, in a spirit of 
trustful reliance, put his earthly destiny in her hands ; and even while 
honors, corresponding to the elevation of his sentiments, were bloom- 
ing upon his brow, and he was advancing in favor with God, and in 
dignity with man, he still continued to share with her his solicitudes 


SARAH. 


8B 


and his joys, and found his comfort in a free interchange with her of 
thought and feeling. In reference to the promise of God upon which 
hung his highest hope, and the deferred fulfilment of which was so 
trying to his faith, we find him opening to her the secrecies of his 
heart, in a manner no less honorable to her character than evincive of 
his own noble and ingenuous spirit. 

There is, however, nothing like perfection about human nature, 
even in its best and happiest exhibitions. It is idle to look for it. 
The pictures which are often drawn, of manly honor untarnished by 
the slightest stain, and of female excellence without a foible, are but 
sketches of fancy, without beauty, because wanting the air of reality, 
and deprived of power, because destitute of the elements of truth. 
Ours is a world of weakness and of sin. The noblest spirit does not 
always dictate the most manly course, nor is the purest bosom always 
free from improper thoughts. The intellect which rises and marches 
among the stars, may have its moments when it falters and trips like 
the veriest childhood ; and he of the most elevated character may, 
under the power of some strong temptation, be seduced into acts 
unworthy of his name. There are evidences of unbelief, and instances 
of unmanly cowardice, mingling among the noble qualities and heroic 
deeds which embalm the memory of Abraham himself ; and there are 
scenes, in which Sarah shows that she was a partaker in the frailties 
of the race to which she belonged. If over these an inspired wiiter 
has not seen fit to draw a veil, nothing can be gained to the object of 
the narrative, but much may be lost to its truthfulness, by passing 
them in silence. We must see her as she is, if we would understand 
her character fully ; and while we study her virtues for imitation, we 
may mark her errors for caution. 

Oh ! who, among the strongest and best, even of the stronger sex, 
has not his times of weakness and of fear, when transient imbecility 


34 


SARAH. 


triumphs over general steadfastness, and his excellencies of character 
are eclipsed by a passing cloud ? 

There were hours in Sarah’s history when her faith seemed to fail 
her, or when she caught something of the trembling spirit of her lord. 
Under the pressure of fear, in \dew of the suspected craft and misrule 
and oppression of the Egyptians, into whose country they were driven 
by famine, Abraham fell from the independence of high-mmded vir- 
tue, and Sarah partook of his shame. 

We cannot justify the part she acted in the scheme of equivoca- 
tion and deceit, which was to pass her oflP, in the land of strangers, as 
the sister of her husband. It was, in one sense, the truth, that she 
was the sister of Abraham ; but it was not the whole truth, and the 
object of its partial disclosure was, to practise an imposition. And 
yet it is but justice to Sarah to say, that, in the moving appeal of 
Abraham to the generosity of his wife, “ my soul shall live because of 
tliee^'' there was something at once touching and irresistible. There 
was nevertheless error here ; we cannot deny it ; but it was the error 
perhaps of attachment too strong, and confidence carried beyond its 
proper limits. It was an error, which shows, even in its deformity, 
the beauty of a trustful, relying spirit. If the father of our race 
showed his attachment to his wife, when he linked his fortunes with 
hers in her fall, no less devoted does Sarah appear, in allowing her 
confidence in her lord, and her wishes for his safety, to triumph over 
her convictions of right. 

A miserable project it was, which imbecility invented, to supply 
the place of a trustful reliance. As is generally the case where expedi- 
ency is substituted for right, the natural consequence was, an exposure 
to the very danger it was designed to avert. True, a divine interposi- 
tion shielded them from the harm they dreaded, not however without 
leaving them to the bitter fruits of their folly, in self-reproach, and 


SARAH.. 


35 


contempt, and an ignominious banishment from the land in which 
they had sought shelter, and among whose inhabitants they might 
have found respect and honor. In the painful and humiliating condi- 
tion to which they were reduced, in the blot put upon the fairest 
characters which ever adorned human nature, we learn a lesson of the 
folly and guilt of substituting any line of crooked policy, or equivocal 
action, for the noble and ingenuous conduct which results from intel- 
ligent and unshaken confidence in God. 

A still darker page in Sarah’s history has yet to be opened, and 
another tale to be told — a tale of more than equivocal action — a 
plan originating in that sinking of heart, which accompanies blasted 
hope. Ten long years had she waited for that promised son, in whom 
their race was to be built up ; and year after year had passed, leaving 
her to a disappointment she now deemed hopeless. 

The device she suggested was wholly her own ; it was intended 
to forestall the doings of Providence ; and while it was^ altogether 
unworthy of her — one which a well-regulated judgment could not for 
a moment have allowed — which she ought to have known was but 
planting thorns thereafter to pierce her own heart, and seeds of 
bitterness to rankle in her own bosom — yet its suggestion is evidence 
of the close sympathy between Abraham and herself, which has 
already been presented as an illustration of her superior character. 
Marvellous as it may appear to us, this was her plan: Hagar the 
slave, who, acquired in Egypt, should, as a memorial of the scenes 
through which they had passed, have taught her the folly and danger 
of distrusting God — Hagar was to be the mother of her heir. 

If the proposal was strange as suggested by Sarah, no less strange 
was it as acceded to by Abraham. The inspired historian has given 
us no explanation of their conduct in this matter ■, he has left it 
standing a naked fact, without the record of a single cii'cumstance to 


36 


SAEAH. 


relieve it, an evidence of tlie weakness of human nature, and of the 
lengths to which the best may go, when, renouncing theii’ confidence 
in the Most High, they are thrown upon their own resources of 
wisdom and strength. 

A fair, impartial estimate of human conduct, however, requires us 
to examine it in the light of all its circumstances ; it may have, when 
wrong, not justifying, but palliating comiections. Manifestly improper 
should it be, to judge Sarah by a modern standard of propriety, 
or to leave her under all the obloquy which present established rules 
of decorum, and the corresponding views of society, would attach to 
such a project. We do not in these remarks become the apologists 
of expediency, nor would we ever defend as guiltless the smallest 
sacrifice to policy of righteousness ; yet, when we remember the 
custom of the age when Sarah lived, its frequent and allowed 
polygamy, and consider how prevalent usages of wrong, though they 
do not sanction error, are yet apt to dim our perceptions and deaden 
our moral sensibilities, we confess to a diminution of surprise at the 
policy designed to compass an end, the subject-matter of a specific 
promise, and in reference to which her faith had been long and sorely 
tried. 

Sometimes, when a dark cloud lowers upon the horizon, there are 
streaks of light which indicate an unclouded fii-mament beyond it. 
So, in this case, we think we can see redeeming qualities, which, as 
evincive of a better spiidt, should screen the wife of Abraham from 
unqualified censure. Admitting that we have here evidence of a 
weakened faith in God, we have likewise proof of a generosity of 
feeling. We cannot entertain the slightest doubt of her strong 
attachment to Abraham ; and knowing, as we do, that, of all the 
passions of the human bosom, none is so monopolizing as that which 
binds the female heart to its chosen object, it could not have been 


SARAH. 


37 


without the most painful sacrifice of feeling, and consequently not 
without a motive of intense strength, that she could have gone 
forward in her project. Selfishness, from the nature of the case, 
could not have been her moving influence ; and nothing, we appre- 
hend, could have actuated her, but a desire for her husband’s glory 
in his rising house, evincing, in the midst of her error and blinded 
zeal, a tenderness and magnanimity, which shows her to have been 
honorable in the very folly over which we are compelled to weep. 

We need not dwell upon the result — what is it but an exhibition 
of the wretchedness of those who make the end to justify the means ? 
The ignoble nature of Hagar is not less distinctly seen in her subse- 
quent impertinence, than is the lofty spirit of Sarah in the indignant 
resentment with which she met it. Suffering indeed was she, as she 
continued to suffer the bitter consequences of her mistaken, though 
generous policy ; still we see in her that sensitiveness of a high-minded 
soul, which disdains nothing so much as ungenerous conduct, and 
which can endure with patience any wrongs but those which originate 
in baseness. 

Not a little of her succeeding history illustrates the rectitude of 
Providence, which metes out, oftentimes in this life, to social delin- 
quencies their appropriate awards. Many and severe were the trials, 
which, as the result of their crooked policy, Abraham and Sarah were 
called to endure ; nor was Hagar left without tasting the bitter fruits 
of her vanity and arrogance. 

Thus disciplined by Providence, Sarah’s character shone more 
brightly at the last. Though sometimes, doubts and unbelief led to 
unseemly and dishonoring manifestations, yet, at length she seems to 
have been subdued to simple confidence, and then was the promise 
fulfilled, and Isaac was born, whose name discloses the gladness of the 
parental heart. 


6 


38 


SARAH. 


A motlier, it is said, and said we believe with truth, gives charac- 
ter to her child, and stamps upon him the lineaments of her own 
mental and moral image ; and thus does Isaac, the heir of promise, 
become his mother’s best eulogist, since under her fostering care were 
developed those excellencies for which he was distinguished. His 
sweetness of temper and noble qualities, show us what his mother 
was — never had he shone so brightly, had she not been superior, 
both in mind and heart. 

Thu-ty-seven years after the birth of Isaac, did she remain the 
faithful and affectionate wife, the no less faithful and devoted mother. 
At length her course on earth is finished, and in the Cave of Mach- 
pelah, among the sons of Heth, were deposited her mortal remains ; 
and there did Abraham mourn for her, as one who had lost his best 
earthly friend, who, if she had been a partaker with him in his follies, 
had also shared with him in his trials, his virtues, and his joys. 

Her memory yet is fragrant, as her character is instructive. If she 
had her faults, she had her virtues likewise ; and those virtues seem to 
heighten, by contrast, her frailties. Had she been less distinguished 
for the former, the latter had been less noted. Her errors seem 
great and glaring, because her excellencies were so many and shining. 
Her history, what is it, but, on the one hand, an exhibition of the 
sins into which the human heart is betrayed by its distrust of God’s 
promise, and providence ; and, on the other, of those vii-tues which 
ennoble the female character, and which, as exemplified by Sarah, 
have placed her name among those illustrious for their goodness, 
and justified an inspired penman in setting her forth as a pattern 
of the domestic graces, an example, the imitation of which will give 
glory to her sex ? Had she appeared without a fault, she had seemed 
more than human ; had her faults overbalanced her excellencies, she 
had been an unsafe example to copy. We revere her memory, not 


SARAH._ 39 

simply as the wife of Abraham, but as one, who, by means of her 
own virtues, wins our esteem and excites our admiration. Truth has 
embalmed her character in the sketches it has placed upon the sacred 
page, and we should not be slow in paying our weak tribute of 
respect. They honor her the most, who imitate the qualities they 
praise. 



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ELIZABETH. 


BY W. B. SPRAGUE, D. D. 


An interest often attaches to an individual, not merely from the 
actions which he has performed, or from the experience of which he 
has been the subject, but even from the period at which he has lived. 
We have an illustration of this remark in the almost involuntary 
homage which we render to the few surviving veterans who lived 
during the time of our Eevolution ; the mere fact that they were then 
upon the earth, — that among the memories of their childhood is the 
sound of the distant artillery that told of some decisive battle, or the 
passing through the country of an army of which they remember little 
more than their dress, — even this makes them welcome to us, now in 
theii* old age ; and while we transfer to them somewhat of the interest 
of scenes of which they were scarcely witnesses, — much less partici- 
pants, — we linger about- them with an unwonted reverence. But how 
much more intense is the interest with which we regard them, when 
we learn from their own lips that they were themselves a part of the 
history of those eventful times,— that they had a personal agency in 
guiding the councils or fighting the battles, which secured our nation’s 
independence ! We gladly rise up to do them honor ; and we grate- 


42 


ELIZABETH. 


fully associate them \\dth every estimate we form of the value of our 
country’s liberty. 

The individual whose name is placed at the head of this article, 
becomes an object of interest as well from the eventful period at 
which she lived, as from her own personal history. The world had 
then stood for about four thousand years. It had been the scene of an 
almost endlessly diversified experience ; and though, in many respects, 
the successive ages seemed alike, yet each had its own peculiarities, 
illustrative of the character both of God and of man. The patriarchal 
or original dispensation had lasted through a long series of centuries, 
and had passed away ; and the history of the illustrious personages 
who had most prominently figured in it, had become a thing of olden 
time. The dispensation which succeeded to that, and which was 
introduced by Moses, had also grown old, and was quickly to come to 
an end. David and Solomon and Isaiah, and a multitude of others 
whom God had commissioned to do great and good work for Himself, 
had accomplished their mission and fallen asleep. The whole Jewish 
economy was now waning and tottering, and even the temple itself, 
which every Jew recognized as the common bond of his nation, was 
soon to become the scene of most appalling ruin. Previous to that, 
however, Messiah, — not indeed the Messiah which the Jews had 
expected for so many ages, but one in every way conformed to the 
spirit and letter of the predictions of their own Scriptures, — was to 
arise, and by his life and by his death, to perform the appointed office 
of the world’s Redeemer. Had the name of Elizabeth come down to 
us merely as one who lived at that interesting period, would not t his 
alone have been sufficient, to lead every Christian at least, to thmk 
of her with some degree of interest ; just as the localities which are 
supposed to have marked the different stages of our Saviour’s ministry, 
ari’est the eye and quicken the pulsations of every one who visits 




ELIZABETH. 


43 


them ? What then shall we say of the interest that attaches to her 
memory, when we bear in mind that she was honored to take the 
lead in that train of events that ushered in the new dispensation ; 
was selected by Divine Providence from all the other women of her 
time to be the mother of the child who should announce to the world 
the advent of the Son of God ? In view of her having experienced 
such an honor, who wiU not say, — “ Hail, — blessed art thou among 
women ! ” 

The relation in which the inspired narrative first presents Eliza- 
beth, is that of the wife of Zacharias the priest. They had lived 
together, it would seem, many years ; and from the excellent character 
which is attributed to them, we cannot doubt that they had lived in 
that familiar acquaintance with each other’s hearts, that endearing 
and unreserved intimacy which so well becomes the conjugal relation. 
But it pleased Providence at length to subject this good old man to 
a visitation, in itself deeply afflictive: his lips were miraculously 
sealed for more than three-quarters of a year, so that he had no other 
medium of communicating his thoughts than by signs or by writing. 
However grateful may have been the revelations with which this 
calamity was connected, the calamity itself, especially to a person in 
the pubhc station which Zacharias occupied, must have been very 
severe ; and she who was the divinely constituted sharer of his joys 
and sorrows, must have felt intensely the deprivation of which lie was 
the more immediate subject. 

Though we are not informed in respect to the kind offices which 
this devoted wife performed towards her husband during the months 
that he was incapacitated to speak, we cannot doubt that she was a 
model of exemplary tenderness and fidelity ; — that she accommodated 
herself, as every good wife will of course do, to the peculiar exigences 
of her condition. What though her husband whose voice had been 


44 


ELIZABETH. 


accustomed to clieer and animate and instruct lier, to direct her medi- 
tations and quicken her devotions, was dumb, so that be could not 
even whisper a word in the ear of conjugal affection ; — this was no 
reason why she should cherish a spirit of impatience or complaint, — 
why her accustomed tenderness towards her husband, or her accus- 
tomed confidence in God, should be diminished. She feels that the 
duties of her station are modified by every change of circumstances ; 
and she supplicates grace that she may accommodate herself to every 
change that Providence may ordain. 

How beautiful is this facility of adaptation in a wife to the numer- 
ous vicissitudes of human existence. Every reader will probably be 
able to recall cases that have occurred within his own observation, 
that illustrate as well by its absence as its presence, the great im- 
portance of this quality, as an element not only of conjugal fidelity, 
but of domestic happiness and usefulness. I have in my eye, at this 
moment, a case of either kind ; both of which I will describe, and 
then leave my reader to range through the world and find them out 
if he can. I wHl only say that the grave has rendered them both 
legitimate subjects of history. 

I knew a man, who, about the middle of life, was smitten with 
total blindness. And along with this came other infirmities, which he 
was accustomed to say, rendered him a burden to himself. He could 
not find the way through his own dwelling or even to his own bed, 
unless some friendly hand were held out to guide him. Nor did he 
bear his afflictions with any great patience ; on the contrary, it was 
difficult to please him ; his vocation seemed to be that of a fault- 
finder ; he found no pleasure even in the prattlings of his own 
children ; the very singing of the birds without seemed almost an 
offence to him. His wife, who was much younger than himself, and 
whose education had abundantly fitted her for any station in society. 


ELIZABETH. 


45 


even the most exalted, always behaved towards him as a sweet 
ministering angel. Every one knew that her early hopes had been, 
in a great measure, blasted : every one knew that her gentle spirit 
received many a shock and many a wound from his inconsideration 
and petulance ; but none of all these things moved her from the most 
vigilant and affectionate discharge of conjugal duty. She apologized 
for things on the ground of his blindness for which even that calamity 
furnished no good apology. Not a want of his would she suffer to be 
unsupplied which it was possible for her to reach ; and she would 
stand over him and breathe loving and confiding words into his ear, 
when the response that would come back would seem to tell only of 
an ice-bound heart. She was the fond wife at his death-bed, and even 
at his funeral. She had sworn to be all this, and she faithfully kept 
her vow. 

Now look at the other case. A husband in whose character every 
thing gentle and confiding and generous is exemplified, finds his 
strength weakened in the way, and himself the subject of a lingering, 
hopeless disease. His wife had been joyful enough in the days of 
tlieii’ prosperity, and had forgotten that there were any dark days m 
the calendar of human existence. And when this unexpected calamity 
occure, oh how poorly is she prepared to encounter it ! She afflicts 
him by offensive allusions to her withered joys ; or even if she keeps 
her tongue still, her countenance speaks of unwonted disquietude. 
She is sometimes found in circles of gayety, where the hearts of the 
gayest reproach her for conjugal unkindness. At length death comes 
to his release ; and when the tidings that he is no more, go abroad, 
there are many to respond, — “ How grateful must be the close of such 
a life !” That woman knew not how to adapt liemelf to any other 
than scenes of prosperity ; when the evil days came, she had no 
resources either of strength for duty, or of comfort in trial. 


7 


4G 


ELIZABETH. 


The case of Zacharias and Elizabeth was indeed peculiar, inasmuch 
as the affliction by which he was visited, was immediately connected 
with the most honorable display of the Divine goodness towards 
them. How could they be otherwise than cheerful and happy, when 
they reflected that the occasion of this event was identifled with the 
immediate preparation for the opening of a new and more glorious 
dispensation upon the world ? But though others whom God afflicts 
cannot expect to find the same consolation that was vouchsafed to 
them, there are some softening ingredients infused into every earthly 
cup of sorrow ; there are some blessings left to the Christian, even 
when the hand of God presses upon him the hardest. And it is our 
wisdom in the day of adversity to think not merely of the blessings 
which are taken, but of those which are left ; and even the bitterest 
afflictions lose their bitterness and gather the sweetness and rise into 
the dignity of blessings, when they are considered as part of the 
discipline by which the spirit becomes schooled for its eternal rest. 

But it is not merely as a wife, but as a mother that Elizabeth is 
presented to us. And there is this peculiarity in her case, — that not 
only the birth, but the character and the mission of her child were 
the subject of prophecy, and were even formally announced by an 
angelic ministration. Elizabeth knew distinctly, from the beginning, 
that her offspring was destined to perform no common work ; and 
this knowledge no doubt must have given dfrection, in some degi’ee, 
to her efforts in educating him. While she gratefully acknowledged 
God’s goodness in the gift of a son, and of such a son, she manifested 
her gratitude by endeavoring to mould his character in accordance 
with what she knew was to be his remarkable destiny. 

Who can suitably appreciate the tenderness, the responsibility, 
the surpassing interest that pertains to the relation of a mother ? It 
is not too much to say that she is God’s prime minister in moulding 


ELIZABETH. 


47 


both the character and the destiny of the race ; and if we Avill know 
at any time what are the prospects of human society, we cannot more 
easily arrive at the truth, than by inquiring into the probable 
character of those who are to be the mothers of the next generation. 
Ye who sustain this relation now, — reflect for a moment what it is 
that devolves upon you. Your infant child opens its eyes on a world 
of probation, and it is for you to educate it for immortality. It has 
a mind, unfurnished indeed with knowledge, and yet susceptible of 
great and lofty acquisitions ; it is for you to shed the flrst beams of 
light upon that darkness, — to give the flrst direction to those noble 
faculties which especially bespeak its divine original. It has a heart 
in which is the embryo of corrupt affections and inclinations, which 
time will certainly, in a greater or less degree, develope ; and it enters 
a world in which the tempter has found a home, — a world proliflc of 
evil actions and unhallowed influences ; and yours is the responsibility 
of guiding it in the right way, when there is so much within and 
without prompting it to the wrong. True indeed no angel, as in the 
case of Elizabeth, proclaims to you, either directly or indirectly, what 
manner of child yours shaU be ; but God, by his providence and his 
wmrd, proclaims to you that your influence will, in all probability, 
more than that of any other being, decide what it shall be ; and he 
permits you to hope that, if you are faithful to your obligations, it 
shall shine at last as a gem in your immortal crown. Believe me, you 
are not alone, when you are striving to educate your children in the 
ways of virtue and piety. There may indeed be no visible angelic 
ministry about you, and yet has not Jesus said in respect to your 
little ones, that “ their angels do always behold the face of my Father 
who is in Heaven?” Jesus himself, too, the merciful Saviour, can 
you doubt that He sympathizes with you in your affectionate solici- 
tude for them, when we are expressly told that in the days of his flesh. 


48 


ELIZABETH. 


lie took little children in his arms and blessed them, and said that 
“ Of such is the kingdom of Heaven ? ” If ye neglect your maternal 
duties, who can tell but that ye may thereby be entailing evil upon 
society for many generations ! Who can tell but that History may 
record their names among the scourges of the world ! Who can teU 
but that you may find in your own death the stinging notice of an 
accusing conscience, that they who might have been saved through 
your fidelity, have perished through your neglect ! If, on the other 
hand, you have acted the part of a faithful mother, who shall fix the 
boundary to the happiness which you may secure to your children, — 
to the happiness which you may secure to yourself ! - Who shall 
estimate the joy of the meeting in Heaven between the devoted 
Christian mother and the child whom God has moulded into an heir 
of glory, by means of her efforts and in answer to her prayers ! 

There is yet another relation in which this excellent person should 
be contemplated, — I mean as the friend and cousin of the mother of 
our Lord. After the angel had delivered his message to Mary, and 
she had become satisfied of the wonderful honor that Heaven had 
designed for her, she hastened, no doubt, by special divine direction, 
to visit her cousin, and to commune with her in respect to the 
wonderful dealings of God towards them. And what an interview, 
or rather what a visit, must that have been ! Were ever two women 
brought together in circumstances of such amazing interest ? Con- 
ceive of them in habits of the most affectionate intercoui-se, revealing 
to each other with the utmost confidence the secrets of their hearts, 
viewing their own experience in connection with the great purposes 
of God’s government, so far as they understood them, and say what 
could exceed the interest of the weeks and the months which they 
passed together. And at a later period, though the inspired narrative 
is silent as to their subsequent relations, — yet how naturM is it to 


ELIZABETH. 


49 


suppose that they watched, each the child of the otlier, in its progress 
through life, with the deeper interest on account of their having 
been thus early associated. We know that the mother of our Lord 
survived him ; and there is no evidence that Elizabeth did not survive 
both her son and her Saviour ; and if such were really the case, who 
can imagine the emotions with which these good women, as long as 
they lived, must have dwelt upon the peculiar dispensations of 
Providence towards them, and the wonderful character and destiny 
of their offspring. How must the thought that the son of one of 
them had been beheaded, and the son of the other crucified, in 
connection with the glory of the Mediatorial reign and the hope that 
they should themselves ere long grace the Mediatorial triumph, — 
how must this thought have kept their minds at once full of submis- 
sion and of joy, and rendered their intercourse on earth, as long as it 
was continued, a source of serene but melancholy satisfaction ! 

Let the example of these good women impress others of their sex 
with the privilege and the obligation of unreserved Christian inter- 
course, especially on occasions in which they are deeply and mutually 
concerned. The female heart is naturally confiding, as well as tender ; 
and though the wife looks to her husband first, as the legitimate 
repository of her joys and griefs, her wishes and purposes, yet it is 
fitting that there should be some of her own sex with whom she can 
maintain a free interchange of thought and feeling. It is to be 
considered perhaps as one of the brightest of the signs of these latter 
days, that the spirit of benevolent association has begun to pervade 
extensively the female sex ; and that, instead of being contented, as 
formerly, to labor in an individual capacity alone, they are banding 
together as angels of charity, and thereby greatly increasing the 
common efiiciency of the age. There is scarcely a good work in 
which it is proper that females should engage, in aid of which there 


50 


ELIZABETH. 


are not to be found numerous female organizations. In bringing 
about this felicitous state of things, there was indeed no little preju- 
dice to be met and overcome ; but thanks to a good Providence, the 
world as well as the church has now yielded the point in favor of 
combined benevolent female action. Let them then associate more 
and more in the ministration of charity ; and while they keep within 
the bounds which reason and religion prescribe, and labor in the 
spirit of humility and dependence and holy zeal, they will be gather- 
ing not only from within the range of their vision, but perhaps fi’om 
the ends of the earth, vdtnesses to their fidelity, at the last day. 

Was there not in the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, and in the 
delightful intercourse which we may suppose them to have had, 
something to remind us of the associations into which mothers in our 
day have so extensively formed themselves ? Let these associatio s 
be carefully and gratefully cherished. Let them be saved from the 
inroads of extravagance or fanaticism ; of false maxims or injurious 
prejudices. Let them serve to deepen the sense of maternal respon- 
.sibility, and to sow the seeds of youthful vii'tue. And may our ^ 
enthroned and gi’acious Lord, who condescended to be once “the 
child Jesus,” guard them by his care and crown them with his 
blessing ! 




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"rk P \jtj)|fUiii Jk ’MU) r)fn«i(Kv.i\ 


\. v. > 


MIRIAM. 


BY THE EEV. CHAKLES WADSWORTH. 

• 

Were the letter-press of this volume to be philosophic, we should 
seek in the outward life of these women of the two Testaments, the 
finest exemplifications of the peculiar spirit of each successive dispen- 
sation of the Church. This gallery of Scripture portraits is really, to 
a philosophic eye, a gallery of exquisite transparencies, wherein, as 
the spiritual light kindles behind them, are seen in finest contrast, the 
peculiarities of the progressive religious economies. Miriam, as here 
sketched by the artist, the queenly prophetess of Israel, the exulting 
leader of the choral anthems of Israel’s women, is a very incarnation 
of the magnificently stern spirit of the Old Hebrew Faith. Tlie 
Gospel could have produced no such woman ; nay, the Gospel com- 
pels us to look almost with recoil, upon the picture of a woman, 
going exultingly forth with timbrel and dance along the shore of a 
sea, tossing its great waves, even then, above a kingdom’s gigantic 
desolation. And yet, in all this we see nothing more than woman’s 
gentle nature giving distinctly forth in life, the power of the old 
Patriarchal Theism. Miriam, standing so proudly up by that bright 
sea, a burning prophetess exulting in the triumph of her God, must 
be judged, not by the gentler precei:)ts of our faith, but by the moral 
canons of an anterior disj^ensation. And thus judged, I know no 


52 


MIRIAM. 




style of liumaii character worthy, on the whole, to be matched with 
that of a true prophetess of Israel A woman’s gentle nature wrought 
powerfully on by the dread afflatus of prophecy ! A woman’s gentle 
eye with its seer’s glance piercing Eternity ! A woman’s gentle voice 
burdened with the mysteries of sublimest revelations. A woman’s 
gentle soul rapt into incomprehensible and awful converse with the 
Infinite — the Eternal ! 

But the design of this volume is not so much philosophic as 
biographical ; and the portrait introducing this article is suggestive 
not so much of continuous biography as of dramatic description ; and 
attempting therefore no connected narrative of Miriam’s life, it is only 
with its two passages, most picturesque and dramatic, we would at 
present concern ourselves. The first is the vigil by the banks of the 
Nile. The secbnd is the victory on the Red Sea’s shore. 


MIEIAM m HER TRIAL. 

It is morning upon the proud, old realm of the Egyptian, the stars 
have gone out in the sky, and the dim day-spring hath waxed radiant 
to the zenith, and arching the broad landscape with its cloudless blue, 
the firmament pours down its rosy light upon scenes most discordantly 
mins^led. 

Morning upon the great city of Pharaoh, and gloriously over the 
marbled palaces, and softly through the voluptuous pavilions, and 
sparklingly upon golden throne and gemmed diadem of the despot 
king, blazes the first fiery sunshine. 

Morning upon the low roof of the menial Hebrew, and fuU upon 
the rude board, and the coarse garb, and the toilworn and sorrowful 
brow of the child of God, as if in mockery of a stricken and suffering 
heart, blazes that golden sunshine. 


MIRIAM. 


53 


Morning upon tlie banks of the Nile, and mighty as an enchant- 
ment waking the bii’ds into song, and warming into aroma the dewy 
flowers, and making each rippling wave of the stream radiant as the 
boss of a silver shield, flashes the same burning sunshine. 

Now, note we the picture well. On yon low point of the gi’eat 
river, amid the luxuriant rushes that line its shore, as if haply lodged 
by the refluent wave, the little ark of the Levite is resting. And 
here, away on the high point where the clustering palms grow thick, 
with her little hands clasped close to her throbbing breast and her 
tearful eye fast on the bed of the beloved babe, the Hebrew girl 
stands watching. Alas for her sorrowful and most troubled watch ! 
The night air hath been damp and chill on her tender fi'ame, and the 
monsters of the Nile have broken the waters at her feet in their wild 
play, and the forsaken babe hath sent forth at times from its low bed 
a desolate cry ; and yet, there since the midnight, true to the wont of 
her loving heart, hath she stood in her lonely watch, weak, fearful, 
forsaken. And this is her Trial. 

Now turn we to the other and the contrasted scene : 

ATT UTAM m HER TRIUMPH. 

It is morning once more upon the Egyptian’s land; and again 
radiantly upon the pinnacles of the great city, and mockingly upon 
the desolate dwellings of the Hebrew, are sparkling the morn’s fli’st 
sunbeams. 

We stand now with our artist on the shore of the Sea, at the horn* 
of Israel’s triumph over the Egyptian. At the midnight watch, there 
were sounds on the air, as of chariot, and rushing horse, and marching 
men in their mighty mail ; and the Host of the Hebrew fled fast 
in fear from the swarming thousands of Pharaoh. But with the 


54 


MIRIAM. 


morning’s light rose Jehovah’s voice on the waters ; and as the wreck 
of a great kingdom, the plumes and the banners, and the shattered 
chariots, and the breathless horses of war, and all the champions of 
Egypt in their brave array, have gone down before the strong breath 
of the Eternal ! And now, by the exulting Sea which mingles its 
great voice with Israel’s victorious anthem. Behold ! with her bosom 
swelling, and her eye afii’e, and her voice ringing out like a trumpet 
peal to the sky, in its chant of magnificent hallelujah, she stands again 
in the morning light, IVIii’iam the prophetess of God. And this is her 
Triumph. 

Now these are the two prominent, yet strangely contrasted, scenes 
in the life of Miriam. And turning from the picturesque to the prac- 
tical, let us gather a few points of instruction involved in these 
passages. And, 

First. What a lesson herein^ of encouragement to faith. We have 
liere, in most dramatic power, faith’s ventures and faith’s victory. 
The whole transaction on the Nile, with the infant Moses, we find 
ascribed in the Epistle to the Hebrews, to the power of faith. It was 
a mother’s faith, that platted the rushes and launched the babe upon 
the waters. It was a sister’s faith that kept watch through the 
midnight by that wild stream. And it is altogether beyond me to 
conceive of faith’s more masterful trial. By aU philosophic likeli- 
hoods does the child Moses seem hemmed in unto destruction. 
Surrounded every where by death ; death on the rushing stream, 
death at the fangs of Nile’s monsters, death at the hands of the 
armed watchmen of Pharaoh. Ah, how can that weeping babe carry 
it victoriously over that despot king ! And how can God’s promise 
written so clearly out on the brow of the child, “ fair unto God,” be 
fulfilled, in the face of so terrible an antagonism ! And yet, unmoved 
by it all, observe how the eye of the watching sister flashes through 


MIRIAM. 


55 


lier tears in serene trust ; and all tlie thronging interests of the hour 
are cast steadfastly upon God in faith’s great ventures. 

Now look we to faith’s victory — the shore of the great Sea. And 
there with his sceptre broken, and his legions scattered, and all his 
kingly array, plumes of light, and chariots of battle, and banners of 
victory, tossing wild on the wave. Pharaoh the oppressor of Israel 
hath gone down to his doom. But the child Moses, whose outcast 
bed was by the rushes, sprung now to majestic manhood. Behold ! in 
his strength, in his glory, a conqueror of conquerors ! A victor 
beyond all the dreams of old chivalry, he walketh the Sea’s shore 
matchlessly triumphant ! And Miriam ! no longer the weeping 
watcher, the tried, the trustful ; but Miriam the victoress ! Miriam 
the prophetess of God ! Behold how with her queenly tread, and her 
blazing eye, and her exulting voice, she leads the triumphs of Israel, 
sending up to the bending heavens, God’s great hallelujah ! Faith’s 
ventures so glorious in victory ! 

And surely then, these pictures, so striking in contrast, should 
strengthen Christian faith into mastery ; for they set forth alike the 
fact and the philosophic wisdom of Faith’s great ventm’es : and in 
their study I perceive how Christian trust is, after all, but the per- 
fection of reason. The light in that sister’s eye through the lonely 
watch, is no blaze of fanaticism; it springs only from that eagle 
vision of faith which rests ever on the great Power moving the 
springs of the universe. She has read God’s preserving purpose in 
the unearthly beauty of that slumbering child ; and why should she 
fear the rushing flood, or the roaring monsters, or the menials of the 
princess’s train, or the armed war-men of Pharaoh ! Why should she 
not rather, in all the joy of assured faith, go on from the ventures by 
the Nile, to the Bed Sea’s victory ! 

And so should it be ever. Christian faith, even in its wildest 


56 


MIRIAM. 


trust, is pliilosopliic ever. It arises from tlie look of an eye piercing 
beneath outward aspects, to those hidden springs that move the great 
universe ; and seeing God in them all, confides without fear that their 
working together shall be in fulfilment of His promises. And such 
being faith’s ventures, its victories are certain. No matter for the 
strength of the antagonism or the aspects of discouragement, it is but 
taking God at his word ; it is but adjusting the wheel of human hope 
to play into the great machinery of Divine purposes ; it is but casting 
the anchor forth on the Eternal Kock, confident that the shattered 
bark will outride the hurricane ; it is but watching with IVIiriam 
God’s great hand on the Nile, and then chanting God’s victories by 
the Eed Sea’s billows. 

Secondly. But then if thus manifestly an encouragement to faith, 
there is taught here^ no less manifestly, a great lesson of encou/ragement 
to actimty. 

Faith, even when venturing on God’s promise and purpose, is at 
best an infatuation, if it consist not with diligent pains-taking. 
Herein lie the difterences between presumption and faith. The one 
sitteth with means unused, waiting for miracles ; the other worketh 
to the full in its own strength ere it look for interferences. Presump- 
tion would leave the child Moses in the Levite’s home, trusting God 
to protect it ; Faith wiU conceal carefully, and plat cunningly the 
rushes, and launch tenderly upon the wave. Presumption would 
yield the child Moses to the rushing flood unwatched by the mortal ; 
Faith will set the sister’s eye to keep sleepless vigil, as earnestly as 
if there were resting on him no glance of Omniscience. There must 
be to the uttermost, the mother’s work and the sister’s watch, ere 
there be looked for at all, an interposal of the watch and work of the 
Eternal. And so is it ever. Away Aom a Christian’s creed the 
pitiful tenet, that because God works man may be idle. 


MIRIAM. 


51 


If these contrasted pictures exhibit faith’s victory, they exhibit as 
well, the victory of well doing. The scene on the Red Sea’s shore, 
is but a philosophic consequent of the scene on Egyptian River. Had 
not Miriam watched earnestly, she had not triumphed ultimately ; 
though there be through all the intervening record, the manifestation 
of God’s marvellous working, yet there is the manifestation no less, 
of the reach of human activity ; and so apparent are the steps to the 
great sequence, that a child can tell you that Miiiam sung as an 
exulting victoress, only because she watched as a tender sister. As 
beheld in that painful night-watch, she is vastly more than a trustful 
venturess upon God, she is positively and powerfully a fellow-worker 
with God, in the ultimate salvation of Israel’s champion ; in the 
amazing glories of Israel’s victories. Keeping vigil by that palmy 
Nile, she is touching a hidden spring in that great mechanism, 
whereby at last there will be rolled the Red Sea’s strength on the 
host of the pursuing Egyptians. She is working rather than watch- 
ino- : and thus worketh true faith ever. It is no weak and indolent 

O 

and slumberous thing; it hath a yearning desire, and a stanch 
purpose, and an iron sinew, and a fiery heart. It will not leave the 
infant Moses in the Levite’s chamber because God can protect by 
miracle ; it launches him carefully on the Nile’s waters because God 
worketh through means even m miracles. It lulls not Miriam to 
dream joyously because God’s eye is on the infant ; it girds her to 
keep the more earnest watch because God watches through her ; and 
its victory is glorious on the Red Sea’s border, only because its 
ventures were in earnest well doing on the banks of the Nile. 

Thirdly. And now combining into one, these lessons thus imper- 
fectly sketched, how powerfully will these contrasted scenes speak of 
the might of woman's injUiemce fellow-working with God. 

If there be a truth patent in these inspired biographies, it is, that 


58 


MIKIAM. 


woman’s is no subordinate part in tlie great drama of God’s moral 
providence. And no where does this truth show more nobly than in 
these contrasted pictures. 

The triumph on the Eed Sea’s shore, we have seen to be a philo- 
sophic sequence of the Nile’s lone vigil ; so that, had Jochebed failed 
in the weaving of rushes or Miriam faltered in her earnest watch, the 
whole after-fate of the deliverer had been changed, and the whole 
plot of the great Hebrew drama disastrously marred. And it is well 
worthy your closest attention, how in God’s economy of providence, 
Israel’s, deliverance could have been achieved by no other means. 
Upon careful perusal of the preceding context, the impossibility 
seems absolute, that Moses could be saved. By all the malign power 
of a resistless despot is the child hemmed in unto certain destruction.' 
And had all the tribes of the Hebrew blood gathered in mailed 
strength, to sentinel his cradle, Egypt’s war host had scattered them 
as the wind ; and only the sooner for such protection, had the young 
child died. And yet a work manifestly too great for all Israel’s 
chivalry, is here achieved well, thi’ough woman’s ministries of love 
and faith. That frail ark of rushes hath surrounded the babe with 
a bulwark more impregnable than a munition of adamant ! And the 
watch of that sister’s eye hath sentinelled the babe more stanchly 
than the vigil of a diademed archangel ! And resulting as this 
woman’s work did, in the safety of the exposed ark, and Israel’s 
ultimate deliverance, what calculus of ours shall sum its magnificent 
issues ! Behold the maid by the river bank, her little hands pressed 
close to her tender breast, and her tearful eye fast in its strong love 
bn the babe’s low bed ; and yet vastly more is she doing through that 
solemn night, than keeping watch over the exposed Hebrew. Within 
that ark of rushes, there lies tossed on the Nile, the germ of Israel’s 
fast coming deliverance ! The germ of a world’s triumphant redemp- 


. Vu -A ■ 


iM I R I A M . 


59 


tion ! And yet Miriam alone keepeth vigil. And so it wall seem to 
you, tkat all the miracles of that deliverance, all the matchless vic- 
tories of the Tribes over the broad lands of the Canaanite, all the 
national splendors of the old Hebrew race, under the majestic line of 
her kings ; yea, and farther on, in the fulness of time, all the greater 
glories of the Messianic redemption ; the victory of the Incarnate 
over death ; and the flashing of glad light through the grave ; and the 
casting down of Hell’s proudest array ; and the ultimate enthrone- 
ment on a redeemed world of the Prince of the great spiritual Israel ; 
and the swell of the great song up in Heaven, of the thousands of 
thousands with palms and white robes ; and all the amazing and 
incomprehensible issues of that redemptive plan waxing glorious 
through Eternity ! These ! All these, I say, will seem to you in 
the economy of God’s moral Providence, to suspend themselves on 
woman’s ministry ; on Jochebed’s careful tod with the rushes, on 
Miriam’s faithful watch by the Nde. And who, then, will dare caU 
such a ministry subordinate ? Why, one of God’s loftiest plans, one 
of God’s most magnificent purposes, lies cradled and incarnate in that 
vessel of rushes, and woman only keeping God’s watch. Not Miriam’s 
part was it indeed, to stand girt with awful power in the presence of 
Pharaoh ; not hers to bear that wonderworking rod along the marvel- 
lous Exodus ; not hers to lead forth the armies of God, in the pomp 
of their victories ; but yet, hers it was, to touch the wires and mingle 
the elements of issues as amazing ; to bring unto the God of Heaven, 
honors as high, and acknowledgments as magnificent ; watching thus 
by the Nile, in true-heaided love ; going forth thus, with timbrel and 
dance, on the Ked Sea’s shore. 

And in aU this, how powerful is the lesson of encouragement, to 
woman, to come up to her high prerogative of efficient co-working 
with Jehovah. Hers has never been, shall never be, a subordinate 


60 


MIRIAM. 


part in tlie great drama of Kedemption. Having to do with our 
nature in its earlier developments, her influence plays into the 
mechanism of the moral universe at a point nearer than man’s to the 
great Mainspring. Watching her babe’s sleep, she is watching, it 
may be, the germ of earth’s mightiest revolutions ; rocking her 
cradled child, she is rocking, it may be, into power, the very largest 
of God’s great purposes ; leading forth her faltering infant with a 
feeble hand, she is launching, it may be, into glorious career, the most 
stupendous train of the providences of the Eternal ! So that, in the 
wdnding up of the great drama, wEen the issues of all actions are 
revealed, haply it may be made manifest, that the loftiest triumphs 
unto the Redeemer have been won by woman’s trustful faith and 
earnest love. And as bringing nobler glory unto God, in the power of 
her far-reaching influence, woman’s may be the loftiest reward in the 
triumphs of Eternity ! And more magniflcent than the achievements 
of Israel’s crowned Kings and triumphing conquerors, may seem the 
simple record of Israel’s women. And fuller of glory on the canvas 
of Eternity, than even Elijah in the fire of his rapture, or Moses in 
the pomp of his victories, may seem these scenes in the life of this 
prophetess ; — Miriam watching the babe by the Nile’s green border ! 
Miriam chanting God’s triumph on the Red Sea’s shore ! 


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ANNA THE PHOPHETESS. 


BY THE EEV. E. N. KIEK. 


The narratives of Luke the beloved physician, and of bis fellow 
Evangebsts, open to our view the day-dawn of human history. It has 
been said, that at that period a new element was entering into human 
life and affairs. But this is a most inadequate description ; for, an 
element is merely a constituent part, or an additional force ; whereas, 
this was the introduction of a new life ; the very lising of the Sun of 
Kighteousness. 

And glorious was his heralding by the Morning Star of prophecy, 
by the glowing fervor of expectant prayer, and by the ministry of 
angels. K you open in Luke’s gospel, at the eleventh verse of the 
first chapter, and read through thirty-eight verses of the second 
chapter, you will say ; never had biography such a beginning. 

They that were waiting for the morning, saw at that period, many 
clear signs that the night of time was passing away, and the day was 
about to dawn. The last ray of traditional light had faded from the 
whole horizon of paganism, and left only shadows deep as the dark- 
ness of death. Judaism had become to the best spirits, the cumber- 


62 


ANNA THE PKOPHETESS. 


some tutorage of a minor just prepared to enter upon his rights and 
responsibilities as a man. The Temple too was losing its peculiar 
value and interest. This was the day of which the illuminated eye of 
the last prophet had seen the grander, though not the sadder 
features ; the close of a great, a mii’aculous dispensation ; the period 
in which the material glory, and even the existence of the Lord’s 
House was to pass away like starlight and the silver splendor of the 
moon amid the golden magnificence of day. The Roman civilization 
had exhausted itself ; as had the Greek, the Egyptian, and the Baby- 
lonian, before it. The Roman empire was waning ; and the race of 
Cffisars had now passed its zenith ; the Roman intellect had exhausted 
its own treasures, and already produced its richest contributions to 
human progress ; and a strange expectancy now possessed the minds 
of all men. There were still, however, many men of commanding 
powers and brilliant virtues in the Latin race. And yet above all 
the splendid favorites of the court, the successful competitors for pro- 
vincial offices, and even the prominent professors of the true religion, 
there was one class of persons whom we regard with supreme interest. 
Their title often given is, “ they who looked for redemption in Israel.” 
And even among these we shall find it necessary to draw a strong line 
of distinction. Worldly views, and merely political feelings entirely 
corrupted, m some cases, even the religious expectations of the 
Messiah. In the case of others, these hurtful ingredients were more 
or less prominent, to a degree that greatly injured their character, and 
hindered the cordial reception of their King and Saviour, in the 
lowliness of his appearance, and the spirituality of his office. “ He 
came to his own, and his own received him not.” Yet there were 
those of another type scattered throughout the Jewish nation. They 
not only expected the Messiah ; but their expectations were more 
enlightened than those of ‘ the learned, more scriptural than those 


. ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


63 


of the professed expounders of the law, more wise than princes and 
philosophers had the wisdom to entertain. 

We select from this favored group one figure. It stands in the 
sacred painting, quietly and modestly apart from the central form 
and the higher light. Two sentences describe her. Her name, her 
descent, her age, her social position, her godliness, and her reception 
of Christ are all sketched in the briefest expressions ; “ and there 
was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of 
Aser ; she was of a great age, and had lived with a husband seven 
years from her virginity ; and she was a widow of about fourscore 
and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God 
with fastings and prayers, night and day. And she, coming in at 
that instant, gave thanks likewise to the Lord, and spake of him to 
all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.” This record is 
not made for her sake, but for ours. It is a mere extract from “ the 
Lamb’s book of life.” But it shows us that it is an extract ; and thus 
opens to us many most precious truths. Our names are the repre- 
sentatives of our persons. And salvation has no value, but as it 
becomes personal. How important is it then to us that the Bible, the 
book of salvation, is, to so great an extent, a record of names ! And 
when we remember that its claims to an infallible origin have been 
questioned, on the ground of its wanting authenticity, every friend of 
the Bible must welcome such marks as these, of its honesty and sim- 
plicity. It has the courage of truth, and dares to speak of men and 
places and dates, in the face of its shrewdest and most embittered 
enemies. Here we are told, for instance, of Anna, a prophetess, the 
daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Ashur, a widow, eighty-four 
years of age, a daily worshipper in the temple, who, in the modern 
language of reproach, would be said to have “ lived in the Chm^ch,” 
]3ut in Scripture style, “ departed not from the temple,” day or night. 


64 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


That there was such a woman, so living in Jerusalem at the time of 
Jesus’ birth ; that she had among the Jews a high reputation for 
piety ; and that she, in her prophetic character, recognized and wor- 
shipped the Kedeemer, we have no more doubt than we have that 
Caesar subdued a part of Britain. We do not know Anna, nor her 
father Phanuel, the Ashurite. But Caiaphas knew them, and the 
Pharisees knew of them, and of the verity of Luke’s declaration con- 
cerniug her testimony to Christ. 

The favored time for her vision of Christ was at his presentation 
as an infant of the chosen people, and at the ceremonial service of 
maternal purification. Though miraculously conceived, he was still a 
man, a Jew ; and as such, subject to all human and Jewish law, and 
must therefore be thus presented at the altar, some thirty days after 
his cii’cumcision. The favored mother had now come up to the holy 
mount from Bethlehem, to present the most mysterious offering that 
had ever been laid before that altar. She bore in her arms the 
wonder of all the wonders even angels ever saw. To the eye it is but 
a Jewish babe. To om’ faith it is Emmanuel, “ God and man in two 
distinct natures and one person for ever.” She came across that large 
open space, within the walls, called the Court of the Gentiles. No 
woman’s heart had ever throbbed with such emotions as she ascended 
those beautiful steps of the imcovered gateway leading into “ the 
Court of the Women,” a higher area which lay like a terrace above 
the outer court. Anna entered the inclosure just as Simeon stood 
with his venerable figure, holding the babe in his enraptured arms, 
closing his beautifnl address to Mary. She beheld the wondering 
priest who had often officiated in receiving presentation offerings to 
the Lord, but had never before seen it on this wise, as he now stood, 
with the affectionate parents amazed at hearing the wonderful words 
of the venerable Simeon. The two turtle-doves brought in the mother’s 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


65 


hand had heen offered as the badge of his humble lot who was now 
laying aside the riches of his kingdom. They all stood upon the 
tesselated pavement, under the open heaven, that probably was filled 
with angels unseen to mortal eyes, watching this new stage of man’s 
redemption. The manhood of the Redeemer was there presented in 
offering, to the Father, according to the law ; for, he was “ holy to 
the Lord,” in the highest sense. Anna no sooner saw this interesting 
group, and the child lying in the arms of the enraptured Simeon, than 
she too caught the heavenly inspiration that animated the company, 
and lifted her grateful song to the Lord God of Israel. Then turning 
to the bystanders who waited” for the redemption of the Lord, she 
declared that this was the promised Messiah, the Hope of Israel, the 
Redeemer of the world. 

But we cannot forget now much there was to discourage this faith. 
The Science, Philosophy, Theology, Wealth, Ecclesiastical and Social 
Power of the nation opposed it. The political influence was, from its 
very genius, hostile to it. There too were the prevalent notions of 
his exalted character and position entirely in conflict with his lowly 
origin and cii’cumstances. The Messiah too was to be of Bethlehem ; 
but they who chose not to look closely at the facts of the case, said, 
he was of the benighted northern tribes, a native of the despised 
Galilee and the contemptible village of Nazareth. How the”n came 
Anna to discern so promptly the meeting of the promised signs in 
him ; by what elevating power was she raised above the prejudices of 
learned men, and of the princes of the land? We trace it to her 
simplicity and sphituality of character. 

In so brief a mention of her, but little of her character could be 
given. But, as when we see some bright star just sweep above our 
horizon, and then suddenly dipping down from our sight for ever, we 
feel an irresistible impulse to fill up the chasm of its history as well as 


C6 


ANNA THE PEOPHETESS. 


we may, from sucli scanty materials. And we undertake tke grateful 
task witk as much zest as if it were ours to recover so much life from 
annihilation. There are here such marks of the higher forms of 
piety ; of permanent principle that has rooted itself in regions where 
no worldly life can grow ; of affections that have nourished themselves 
on the fruits of celestial trees ; in a word, a life that knows so little in 
common with that of the many around her, that we are impelled to 
look to her early history as alone sufficient to account for its pecu- 
liarities. And for our conjectm-es concerning that early life we must 
rely on the analogies of Divine Providence and human experience. 
She lived in this world, but was not of it. Her body fed on the same 
perishable food which sustains all other animal life. Her feet trod 
the same soil with men, and with brutes. She had her place and her 
part in the ordinary interests of life. And yet her spirit moved in 
another sphere ; for she lived with God, and for him. Her daily 
business was in the temple. Serving God was her occupation. Fast- 
ing and prayer were the characteristic actions of her life. She had, 
as before remarked, a spirit more wise and profound than that of 
those esteemed wisest in the State, or best in the Church. It 
regarded God more than events, and God in events. It waited on 
God, and for him. His promise was to it a surer indication of future ^ 
events, than the most fixed laws of nature. It understood his ways, 
and discerned the signs of his promised coming. 

So exalted were her views and sentiments, and so intimate was 
she with the themes of Grace, Providence and Redemption, that she 
was denominated a prophetess ; which is indeed a signal honor. But 
three or four of her sex had ever received this title. And Anna is 
thus to be ranked with Miriam, whose prophetic spii’it manifested 
itself in sacred poetry and music ; with Deborah, who exercised it 
more richly and variously, in a lofty religious zeal and patriotism, in 


ANNA THE PKOPHETESS. 


67 


military skill, and in her ability to judge tke theocratic nation. This 
spirit moreover had been withdrawn from the Church, for more than 
two hundred years : but it was now returning, and to be exercised 
for a much more limited period than formerly. She appears to have 
had the title when no other in Israel, of whom we know, yet bore it. 
"What duties pertained to the office, or in what manner they were to 
be discharged, we do not precisely know ; yet it would seem that 
they involved some degree of publicity. There can be no doubt that 
in almost every case the sphere in which the glory of woman shines 
most perfectly, embraces the domestic, the social, and the particular 
religious circle in which Providence may have placed her. That some 
may properly pass beyond these limited circles, and lay hold on the 
stronger cords that bind as well as those that draw society, the cases 
of Miriam and Deborah might sufficiently show. It is also declared 
by Joel, that in “ the latter day, your sons and your daughters shall 
prophesy.” And we regard a Hannah More, sending the precious 
truth of the Gospel to the rich and the poor in forms so. adapted to 
benefit them ; and also the sweet hymning of many modern poetesses, 
as a fulfilment of that prediction — “ yom* daughters shall prophesy.” 
The views of mankind are yet diverse and contradictory on this 
important subject — the legitimate sphere of woman’s direct influence. 
When we see a female figure rise solemnly before a public and pro- 
miscuous ^sembly, in plain and chaste attire, and hear her pour forth 
such melodious tones as fed from the lips of Elizabeth Fry, declaring 
in the most touching strains the love of Christ to sinners, we see the 
least exceptionable form of dej)arture from the modesty and reserve 
which become the sex : and yet that is the -precise form of it which 
is condemned by the Book to whose authority all Christians profess 
submission. When we see conventions called by -women, to assert 
their rights, we behold a fungus on the body politic, an excrescence 


68 


ANNA THE PEOPHETESS. 


gro’ndng on the tree of civil liberty. And equally far from the type 
of civilization which Christianity is to introduce, are the elegant follies 
and refined vanities of fashionable life. The world will ultimately 
see, that the female character lacks its vital quality where the love of 
God is wanting ; and that there can be no proper elevation above a 
selfish and sentimental life, but by the fervent and controlling purj)ose 
to serve God and to glorify his name. 

Anna comes to our vieAv, a widow of eighty-four years, staid, 
serious, unearthly in her spirit. But she was once young ; not im- 
probably, gay, fascinating and fascinated. Yet she appears, from the 
sad period of her bereavement at least, probably at the age of twenty- 
three or twenty-five years, to have devoted herself entfrely to such 
public service to God as pertained to her sex. Whether we are to 
understand by the expression, “ she departed not from the temple, 
day nor night,” that she attended every service ; or, that she lived 
permanently within the sacred inclosure,- as Huldah the prophetess 
lived “ in the college,” cannot be easily determined. In either case, 
it indicates that she had withdrawn entirely fi'om the pursuit of 
earthly honors and enjoyments. 

How then was she led to relmquish this attractive world, and 
yield herself so unreservedly to the claims of God ? How came 
she to embrace a life which to the young generally appears frksome 
and gloomy ? It was certainly voluntary and deliberate, for it was 
steadfastly maintained through a protracted life. 

We must believe that this decision was made very early. In every 
age of the Church, and in every part of the world, it will generally 
be found, that the highest attainments of piety and usefuhiess are 
connected with early impressions on the conscience and heart. The 
case perhaps rarely occurs, in which the early associations of the mind 
are altogether vicious, or even worldly ; where the freshness of 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


69 


youthful affection has been wasted on vanities ; where the judgment 
has been conformed to false views of God, redemption, happiness, 
the world and personal character, that even the grace of God has 
produced such a transformation as to make there a strong and 
harmonious Christian character. 

We must indulge another conjecture, where so little positive 
information is fm*nished, and presume that the influence of maternal 
piety is to be seen here. There is an undeflnable period of infancy in 
which the mother’s power, especially over a daughter, is unrivalled. 
Under her tuition and guidance, and, as a general rule, according to 
them, these great questions are determined : Shall the conscience or 
the will take the helm ? shall the selfish or the benevolent principle 
be laid at the foundation of the character ? shall God or the world be 
the object of supreme pursuit ? 

One who has shone brightly in the Church, used often to relate 
that her father and brother were ambitious for her. They sought to 
make her prize worldly enjoyments, and aim to be brilliant. Her 
mother, quiet, gentle, and heavenly-minded, never issued a command 
contradictory to that of the father. But, on one occasion, when 
adjusting the dress of her gay little daughter to attend a ball, the 
warm tear fell from her eye upon the cheek of the thoughtless, yet 
affectionate child. That unbidden, unintended, silent tear, even un- 
consciously shed, was the very messenger of God to that little spirit. 
It moved a world of thought and emotion ; it told the deep sorrow of 
an afflicted heart ; it seemed to come like a drop from heaven, telling 
of the fountain of maternal love and grief it had forsaken ; it told 
of solitary hours spent in pleading with a covenanting God for a 
thoughtless child. It so deeply affected the soul of that child, that, 
during the whole evening, amid a company who were living to please 
themselves, she could not forget that she must live to please God. 


10 


10 


ANNA THE PKOPHETESS.' 


We are not informed even as to tlie name of Anna’s mother ; nor 
have we the means of estimating the character of Phanuel. From the 
manner in which his name is introduced in this narrative, he probably 
was a man generally known in Jerusalem, and one of whom men 
would deem it natural to believe that such a woman as Anna, was his 
daughter. 

But under whatever human influence it may have been, and at 
whatever period of her life, Anna must have given herself under the 
power of the Holy Spirit to the service of God, by an act of con- 
secration, full and earnest. She saw that religion is the “ one thing 
needful the great business, and the supreme interest of life. “ I 
must be like my dear sister who died,” was a frequent appeal made to 
herself, by one who had not yet consented to renounce the world. 
“ I must please God,” is the conviction that brings many a child to 
pray for forgiveness and for a renewed heart. “ I longed,” says one 
who became eminent for piety, “ to be like those children of whom I 
read in Janeway’s Token for Childi’en. I too wanted to love the 
Saviour, and have him love me.” Flow often, may we presume, Anna 
would go alone and weep and pray that she might be good, and go to 
God when she should die ! And sometimes very young children are 
brought to a very deep conviction of their sinfalness. They see some 
degree of the holiness of God, the end of all worldly good and glory, 
the utter depravity of their own seMsh and worldly hearts ; and, 
what it would be for God to give them up to love and pursue the 
world, and then “ lose their own souls ” at the last. This conviction 
brings on, in many cases, a painful struggle ; for, the claims of God 
are seen to conflict with worldly ambition, with social influences 
inimical to piety, with a pride of character, and a self-righteousness 
that is reluctant to be saved only by another’s goodness. The 
world is generally fascinating to the inexperienced. And they must 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


n 


renounce it on tlie testimony of God, wlio says that “ he who loves 
the world, is the enemy of God.” The struggle then is usually on 
these two points : the renunciation of all claim to God’s love ; the 
renunciation of every creature as a substitute for Christ as our 
supreme good. We have seen a dear child deliberately weighing 
these momentous questions; and in the fullest view of what they 
involved, determining with Paul ; whatever ground of confidence I 
have before man, I have none before God, “ yea, doubtless I count all 
things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my 
Lord.” We have known such a one deliberately thinking on all that 
Christ required her to renounce, and then cheerfully saying : “ Lord, 
I give up all for thee.” 

From this starting point of self-consecration the soul is generally 
led through sunshine and shade ; sometimes through broad and open 
ways, and then through rocky and entangled paths. There is often 
decision, penitence, earnestness of purpose, even faint love, long before 
joy is experienced ; to trust an unseen God, and renounce the habit 
of depending on self ; to give the eternal future dominion over the 
transient present ; to set an unseen Saviour against all the fascina- 
tions of the world ; to take a firm and independent stand in regard to 
its amusements, its requirements, its customs, and its maxims ; these 
are positions gained, often with much struggle, meditation, prayer 
and fasting. And could young Christians but know how important it 
is that these steps should be taken, without regard to present enjoy- 
ment; would they but consent to sow these heavenly seeds, even 
weeping, they would then be indeed followers of their self-denying 
Lord, and in due time, enter into his joy. We may be sure that 
Anna had made a full consecration of her heart, her time, her house 
to God. Entire simplicity of Christian character can never be 
attained by any thing short of this. 


72 


ANNA THE PKOPHETESS. 


Tlie inquiry now recurs ; how did Anna obtain such light in regard 
to the person of the Messiah ? Like every other “ good and perfect 
gift,” it certainly came “ down from the Father of lights.” We are 
always permitted, however, to connect the eminent success of God’s 
servants with their eminent piety. As it is said of Barnabas ; “ he 
was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost, and of faith ; and much 
people was added to the Lord.” And as we say of Whitfield and 
Edwards, they were very successful ministers of the word, for they 
were wholly consecrated to the work of the Lord. Their clear appre- 
hensions of the person and work of Christ were the reward of earnest 
seeking and of unwavering faith. So we say of Anna, her clear 
apprehension of the presence of Messiah in the person of that poor 
babe at that time, was the consequence of eminent spirituality of 
character and of entire simplicity of heart in interpreting the language 
of the Scriptures. There is no duty which is more intimately con- 
nected with a proper condition of the religious affections, than that of 
comprehending the language and aj^plying the truths of the Bible to 
our own consciences. The pride of learning, the pride of reason, and 
the pride of self-righteousness ; the love of the world ; the distorted 
eagerness of personal advancement, comfort or distinction, all have 
much to do with our understanding of the Scriptures. “ If any man 
will do his (God’s) will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be 
of God.” All the theological oiunions, and all the views of the 
Messiah which led to the rejection of Jesus’ claims, were notions 
forced upon the Scriptures, and not legitimate deductions from their 
teaching. The time of his advent had been so definitely pointed out, 
as to awaken universal expectation. Both Bethlehem and Galilee 
were recognized in the prophecies as connected specially with it. He 
was to be a glorious Idng, yet a servant of rulers ; a conqueror, yet a 
meek, lamb-like sufferer. They were to see divine glory and human 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. Y3 

infirmity meeting in tlie same person. But pride and worldly desii-es 
controlled tlie majority, even of tlie Jews. They consequently 
selected only such features of the Messiah’s personal character and 
official work as suited their purpose. It has ever been thus; and 
probably will be to the end of time, that “ the eye must be siugle,” 
or “ the whole body wdl be full of darkness.” The mere possession 
of light is not sufficient ; for, the Lord has said ; “ if the light that is 
in you be darkness, how great is that darkness ?” Wrong interpreta- 
tions of the Old Testament not only led to the rejection of Christ, 
but even made that rejection a dictate of conscience, and an occasion 
of self-congratulation. On these grounds men are responsible both for 
the origin and the consequences of their religious opinions. The 
announcement of Christ’s coming was so explicit, that the humble, the 
spiritual, the penitent and believing, were by it more or less prepared 
to identify him at his appearing. At the same time, the prophesies 
were so framed, that men remained free to pervert their meaning, and 
could find plausible reasons to fortify themselves behind passages 
taken in a partial sense. Then, as now, and now as ever hereafter, in 
order to look upon Jesus with a full belief in his exalted claims, there 
must be personal and inward correspondence. He appears not as an 
object of admiration, but to be a Saviour to the lost. And although 
one may recognize the personal qualifications of a physician, Avithout 
feeling their own need of his services ; and, although a person may 
recognize the claims of Jesus to be the Messiah, without true convic- 
tion and repentance, yet, to receive him cordially at this day, and to 
have acknowledged him openly, at that period, with a sincere heart, 
demanded the deep sense of spuitual necessities ; the want of a Medi- 
ator for reconciliation with the Father, of an Almighty helper in the 
conflict with its enemies, and of an Almighty power to transform the 
heart. 


14 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


Anna’s waiting upon God with fastings and prayers, for long years, 
were now openly rewarded, in her being permitted thus publicly, and 
thus early, to recognize and proclaim her Saviour. She had a heart 
in harmony with the Scriptm’es, and with Providence ; with God, his 
people on earth, and his holy messengers from heaven. And hence 
no signs were lost on her. The announcement of the angel to Zacha- 
rias that his son should be the forerunner of the Messiah referred to 
by Malachi ; that of Gabriel to Mary, that she should give bii’th to 
the promised King of Zion ; the testimony of Elizabeth to Mary ; that 
magnificent hymn of Zacharias ; the announcement of the angels to the 
shepherds, and the public promulgation of the shepherds; the testi- 
mony of the Magi, of Mary, and of Simeon ; all these Anna welcomed, 
and comprehended, while proud Scribes and self-righteous Pharisees 
disdained to be convinced by them. 

We see then in Anna the nature and value of expectant faith. It 
is called into action by the promise of God. It believes what he 
declares, in spite of reason’s remonstrances and the present appearance 
of things. It controls the life, because it controls the heart by the 
immeasurable superiority of those facts on which it rests. All 
worldly and selfish anticipations sink into their proper insignificance 
before the glory and loveliness of God’s promised blessings. It can 
labor if God requires labor for the fulfilment of his word ; it can wait 
where patience is duty; it can suffer where salvation, is to come 
“ through much tribulation.” It can pray, it will pray ; it can “ offer 
up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and team ;” yea, 
even “ praying in the Holy Ghost,” “ with groanings that cannot be 
uttered,” until the Lord come, and his salvation be made manifest to 
Israel. 

So Anna waited on God, so she looked for the Messiah. Sixty 
years was a long period for one to be held in suspense. Many 


ANNA THE PROPHETESS. 


75 


perliaps wondered at her weakness in so early renouncing the world ; 
many could see no reason for suck incessant occupation in the services 
of the temple. But ske understood kerself ; and infinitely better, 
ske knew Him in whom ske believed. Her expectation from man 
kad ceased, ceased for ever. Tke creature kad no blessing tkat could 
satisfy ker. Ske aspired to tke favor of God ; to kold daily commu- 
nion witk kim ; to wait in kis com'ts ; to promote kis worship ; to 
attend on kim at kis lowly coming. Those long years finally passed 
away, and witk them kad gone many a gay companion of ker child- 
hood ; many a worldly spirit, who could not see tke glory of those 
objects to which ske so exclusively devoted kerself ; they kad gone to 
tkat world where all illusions vanish, and where tke Creator’s service 
appears the only true employment of created faculties. Anna still 
remained, to show how faith in God can sustain the soul amid tke 
wreck of earthly hopes ; to aid tke Church in tkat mysterious work 
of prayer by which God accomplishes kis purposes ; to give ker 
testimony to them whose faith was less enlightened or less elevated 
than ker own ; to assure them tkat tke babe of Bethlehem was tke 
King and Saviour of tke world. 

But ker tmm at length came, when ske too must pass to tkat 
unseen world. In aU- probability ske did not live even to witness 
tke public manifestation of tke Lord, muck less to hear kis divine 
teachings and promises. But hers was still a glorious work to pro- 
phesy in other worlds ; to tell adoring angels and waitiug saints, 
what ske kad seen on earth. Nor dare we trust our imaginations to 
fill out tke scene which must have been witnessed when tke ascended 
Lord entered tkat temj)le which contains tke glory of tke universe. 
And was not Anna there too, to behold ! And did ske not again 
give “ thanks unto tke Lord, and speak of him to aU them tkat kad 
looked for tkat redemption ! ” 







New -York. D.Appleton 8^ CViiOU Broatlway 








R A H A B. 


BY THE EEV. A. A. WOOD. 

Let us go back twenty-three hundred years^ to the ancient “ city of 
Palm Trees,” as it appeared to the men of Israel. — Situated upon the 
banks of the Chorith, a small tributary of the Jordan, some seven 
miles from that river, Jericho was one of the most considerable cities 
of ancient Canaan. Nature had given it a situation combining both 
security and beauty. It was protected, on the one hand, by lofty 
and precipitous mountain ranges, rising almost perpendicularly above 
it ; while, on the other, a plain of surpassing fertility lay at its feet, 
descending by a succession of natural terraces into the rich valley of 
the Jordan. Multitudes of palm trees which every where lifted their 
graceful cylindrical trunks, crowned with tufts of long feathery leaves, 
had given the city one of its names ; while, intermingled with them, 
or standing in close proximity, were fragrant balsams, poplars spread- 
ing their silvery foliage, and oleanders covered with clustering flowers. 
The plain of Jericho might deservedly be considered the garden of a 
land which every where “ flowed with milk and honey.” In addition 
to the rare productiveness of its sod, there are not wanting intima- 
tions in the sacred narrative that the city had considerable commercial 
intercourse with neighboring nations. The shekels of silver, — the 
wedge of massive gold, and especially the “ goodly Babylonish 
11 


78 


RAHAB. 


garment,” — a robe rich -with tbe gems and gold of Assyria, which 
afterwards proved but too attractive to the heart of an erring 
Israelite, in connection with the careless and indolent security of the 
inhabitants, furnish no doubtful evidence that the people of Jericho 
had reached a point of prosperity, where wealth and luxmy eat out 
the virtues and undermine the strength of a community. 

It was in the afternoon of one of the early days of April, that two 
strangers were seen approaching the city by the way of the J ordan. 
They were both young, and clad in the dark flowing robes of the 
East. Anxious evidently to avoid particular notice, they turn aside 
to the waters of the fountains, or linger for a moment amid the groves 
of stately trees. As they come nearer to the city, they direct their 
attention to its means of defence ; now marking the structure of its 
massive walls ; now examining the strength and fastenings of the 
gates ; and now measuring with the eye the height of the lofty 
towers which seem to watch and guard against any hostile approach. 
They find easy entrance to the city ; for to the sentinel they seemed 
only a couple of mountain shepherds, seeking to gratify an idle 
curiosity, or perhaps wanderers from the plains of Moab, who, in the 
distracted condition of their own country, had come to find refuge in 
Jericho. To a more observant eye, however, there was that in the 
appearance and conduct of the men which indicated a loftier character 
and purpose. They have evidently some important business in hand. 
They pass fi’om street to street ; now noting with careful attention the 
military fortifications of the place ; and now mingling with the idle 
groups, which, gathered here and there in places of public concourse, 
are discussing the current news. But one ruling topic, however, 
seems to engross every mind, — the sudden emerging of the Hebrew 
host from the desert ; the terrible overthrow of all the nations who 
had opposed them ; the wonders wrought for their protection and 


RAHAB. 


79 


preservation in the wilderness ; the mysterious pillar of cloud and of 
fire which had led them on ; the terrible uncertainty as to their 
future course when the floods of Jordan should subside — were in 
every mouth, filling every heart with astonishment and terror. 

Thus the day wore on. The deepening shadows of the western 
mountains remind the travellers of the necessity of finding a shelter 
for the night : but whither shall they turn ? They have already 
noticed looks of watchfulness and suspicion directed upon themselves. 
They are strangers in a city of strangers, and any inquiries of the 
inhabitants might only betray their foreign accent and lead to their 
arrest by the government. Happy for them, however, Jericho, with 
all its wickedness, was not destitute of the hospitality of the East. 
Some kindly influence led them to select a place of refuge admirably 
adapted to their purpose. It was removed from the heart of the 
city — a house built upon the very walls. If they should be pursued 
here, there might be a chance of escape. As the event proved, they 
had not sought its shelter too soon. 

The eyes which had watched them in the market-place had traced 
their steps to the house of Rahab. Rumors of their presence, and 
suspicions of their character and their business began to fly about the 
city. The shouts of the rising mob fell upon their ears. A little 
longer, and the emissaries of the government would be upon them. 
In this emergency, they sought the aid of their hostess. There 
was a friendly and intelligent interest in all her actions, which 
invited their confidence. They make known to her their circum- 
stances and their errand. They tell her of the danger which 
threatens them. They ask her help. It is enough ; for when did 
the voice of distress ever appeal to woman’s heart in vain ? Thei-e 
is no time to be lost. She leads them to the house-top, and hides 
them among the bundles of flax with which the flat roof is covered. 


80 


KAHAB. 


Meanwliile the startling intelligence had been brought to the 
king, — that two men, probably Hebrews, had entered Jericho as 
spies, and were at that moment lodged in Kahab’s house. Nothing 
could have alarmed him more. If, up to this hour, he had hoped that 
the swellings of Jordan would oppose an effectual barrier to the 
progress of this strange and* terrible race, that hope is gone. Flushed 
with their recent victories over the Amorite kings, — ^wild and hungry 
as the beasts of the desert from which they have emerged, — ^these 
wandering tribes, who have already broken every opposing arm, are 
about to rush upon Jericho. Ho the barbarians venture so far ? 
Happily their emissaries are now in his power. He takes his measures 
at once. He dispatches a sufficient force to the house of Kahab, to 
make them his prisoners ; or if they resist, to put them to death. 
The king’s command is most urgent. The fugitives, in their distant 
hiding-places, catch the sound of the hurried approach and the heavy 
tread of armed men. There is a fierce knocking at the gates of the 
house : “ Bring forth the men which are come to thee.” They listen 
in breathless suspense for the answer of their protectress ; but they 
cannot catch its faint words. Again the officer shouts forth : “ The 
men that are entered into thy house.” And now they seem to hear 
her say : “ Shall I be treacherous to those who have claimed my 
hospitality, and give them up to men who seek their life ?” “ But 

they are not true men — ^they are enemies ; spies. They are come to 
search out aU the country.” Well may the strangers fear, — shall a 
weak woman withstand the mighty king ? Will she bring upon herself 
the whole weight of the royal displeasure to aid those who are thus 
openly denounced as the enemies of her country ? How anxiously 
must they have listened for her reply. “ There did come men to my 
house, but I knew nothing of their character or their purpose ; and 
about the time of shutting the city gates, just at dark, they went out. 


RAHAB. 


81 


I know not wkere they went ; but if you pursue them immediately, 
you will probably overtake them.” The ready deception of the 
woman is successful. The pursuers immediately departed, — some, 
taking the road to Jordan, to intercept the spies if they should seek 
to regain the Hebrew camp ; and others, stationing themselves as an 
exti’a guard at the city gates, to prevent their escape if they should 
still be within the walls. 

Soon as the street was still, Rahab sought her stranger guests. If 
hitherto she had had any doubt as to their true character, that doubt 
was now removed. She had already ventured her life and braved the 
anger of her king to save them, and the danger she had incurred only 
deepened her interest in these objects of her care. To look at this 
little group upon the house-top, as seen in the dim obscurity of the 
night, we might suppose that their respective positions had been 
entirely changed. She, the protectress and deliverer, seems now the 
obliged and helpless party. She speaks to them, as if not only 
recognizing the princes of Israel, but as if, at the head of their con- 
quering tribes, they were already masters of Jericho, and had the 
supreme power in their hands. Few are the words which pass 
between them, but those words are full of meaning. “ I know,” said 
she, “ that Jehovah has given you this country. We have heard the 
tidings of your approach. The land has been full of the wondrous 
story of your passage through the Red Sea years ago, and of your 
more recent victories over the Amorite kings on the east of Jordan. 
The whole nation trembles and faints at your -coming. And well it 
may. The Lord your God is the all powerful and every where 
present Jehovah. He is God in heaven above and in earth beneath. 
And now, forget not the kindness I have shown you to-night. Promise 
me, by Jehovah, that when the hour of your triumph shall come, you 
will save my life and that of my father’s house.” The men are not 


82 


RAHAB. 


taken by surprise at tbis communication. They seem already to see 
tbe proud city in tbeir power. Every feeling of gratitude prompts 
their answer. “ Our life for yours, if none of your family divulge 
our secret, that, when Jehovah has given us the land, we will deal 
kindly and truly with you.” 

She asks for some token of this compact ; and taking up a scarlet 
cord beside them, they direct her to bind it in the window of her 
apartment over the city wall. It should answer the same purpose of 
protection as the blood of the passoVer sprinkled upon the door-posts 
of the Israelitish dwellings. The fierce soldier should take note of 
this, when in his course of blood, and should leave her house 
unharmed. The engagement is made, and bidding the men hide 
themselves in some one of the mountain caves, at no great distance, 
she, with the aid of her servants, lets them down from the window. 
They pause an instant to exchange assurances of mutual fidelity, and 
the men are soon lost to sight amid the thick shadows of the night. 

The days which followed were full of anxious interest to the 
people of Jericho. The men who had been sent in pursuit, returned 
to report their fruitless search. They had explored every part of the 
surrounding country, they had watched every path, but they had 
discovered no traces of the fugitives. Meanwhile messengers come 
from the Jordan to announce new causes of alarm. The Hebrew 
camp is in motion. They have reached the bank of the river. Its 
bed is dry beneath their feet. The waters, arrested by some invisible 
power, rise, like a perpendicular wall, beside them. The whole body 
of the people has reached the western shore, and the river again fills 
its channel. Shall we wonder as the marvellous story files from tribe 
to tribe, that “ their heart melted ; neither was there spirit in them 
any more, because of the children of Israel ?” If such was the terror 
whicli pervaded even the most distant clans, what must it have been 


RAHAB. 


83 


in that city which now lay directly in the path and almost in sight of 
the advancing hosts ? How shall its panic-struck garrison go forth to 
encounter an army of six hundred thousand men, sustained by the 
manifest presence of a terrible God, and whose only path hitherto had 
been from victory to victory. The enemy is already at Gilgal, within 
a few furlongs of the city walls. And yet for days it tarries there. 
There is no mustering of its troops, — no onward movement, — no 
preparation for attack. Why are they thus inactive in the very 
heart of a hostile country ? Has sudden fear stricken them ? Are 
they dismayed at the height and strength of the walls of Jericho ? 
Are they about to find it a very different thing to attack a city thus 
strongly fortified than to encounter the forces of the Amorite and the 
Moabite in the open field ? Thus the week of the Passover went by. 
In the camp of Israel all was confidence and security as the peojjle 
renewed their solemn covenant with God ; in the city of Jericho all 
was consternation and dismay. At the same time no precaution was 
neglected which might avail in such an emergency. “ Methinks,” 
says an old divine, “ I see how they called their council of war, 
debated of all means of defence, gathered their forces, trained their 
soldiers, set strong guards to the gates and walls, and now would 
persuade one another that unless Israel could fiy into their city the 
siege was vain.” But even as they speak, the camp is moving ; there 
is a sound of the issuing host. As the waving pennons and glittering 
arms appear in sight, the cry passes along the walls — “they come!” 
But how silent and ominous is their approach ! The choicest troops 
of Eeuben and Gad, and the half tribe of Manasseh, an army of forty 
thousand men, lead the way. Next appears that mysterious ark, 
covered with its purple pall, which the superstitious heathen had been 
wont to regard as Israel’s God ! Some scout from Jordan reports 
that it was this which, by its mighty power, had upstayed the rushing 


84 


KAHAB. 


waters, and protected all tlie passing host. Seven men clad in the 
rohes of the Jewish priesthood precede the ark with sounding 
trumpets, — while the sixty thousand warriors of Dan bring up the 
rear. The mighty procession moves on ; it begins to encircle the city. 
And yet throughout the whole host, there is heard no warlike shout 
— no voice of command. In all that was awful and imposing to the 
eye, nothing meets the ear but the truihpet’s blast, prolonged till it 
dies away in the still air. 

But where are the preparations for the assault ? Where the 
mihtary engines to attack the walls, or the laddei*s to scale them ? 
Or, if they despair of any attempt at this, where are the preparations 
to undermine their deep and strong foundations ? Do these wanderers 
of the desert — these fugitive slaves of Egypt — think that the massive 
fortifications will totter and crumble by merely looking at them ? Is 
there some strange principle of repulsion in the beleagured town, 
that, though this huge host encircles it, they cannot and dare not 
approach its gates ? And when day after day passes by, each 
morning bringing with it the same silent procession, in the same 
measured step, and yet no indications of attack ; not even the draw- 
ing of a single sword, or the hurling of a single stone ; the apprehen- 
sion of the citizens passes away, to be succeeded only by derision and 
scoflfe. “ Six days,” we seem to hear them say, “ we have looked at 
this walking enemy. They must have given our city a thorough 
inspection ; they must know by this time how many paces round it. 
They have come somewhat earlier to take their accustomed walk 
to-day. Well, if this be aU, we have no great reason to tremble 
before the power of Israel.” 

But there was one in that city who had watched this strange pro- 
cession with no common interest. Bahab sat by the very window 
from which she had aided the spies to escape, and about which she 


RAHAB. 


85 


had been careful to bind the scarlet cord, — the token of deliverance 
and safety. Day by day had she watched the vast and awful proces- 
sion, — each returning morning bringing with it new hope, and each 
setting sun witnessing a more anxious suspense and a further trial of 
her faith. Now her ears were pained at the impious jeers of her 
wicked countrymen, and now her heart was wrung at the thought of 
their approaching destruction. Now her faith was ready to stagger 
at the delay of the promise, and now she was ready to faint at the 
thought that the spies had forgotten their engagement, or that the 
token to which she had bound all her hopes would be overlooked 
in the destruction of the city. But she has not long to wait. The 
immense procession of the Hebrew host moves on with a swifter step. 
She sees that it does not, as on other days, repair to the camp at 
Gilgal after a single circuit. It moves round the city again and yet 
again. The crisis is evidently hastening on. Six times this day has 
Jericho been thus encircled. It is now the seventh, and even while 
she gazes with throbbing heart, she hears the voice of the Jewish 
leader rising loud and clear above even the trumpet’s peal, “ Shout ! 
for Jehovah hath given you the city.” Instantly from myriads of 
voices, as the sound of many waters, there bursts forth the long exult- 
ing shout of the whole mighty host. There is a sudden heaving and 
shaking aU around her — a wild despaii-ing cry as of a people crushed 
and perishing, and she starts to find that the huge walls on either 
hand have fallen to the earth, and her house alone stands firm. There 
is the onward rushing of the host — they enter the city on every side, 
and ere she has recovered from her astonishment and terror, her Jew- 
ish friends are at her doors, calling for the members of her household, 
and ready to lead them to the camp of Israel. 

This remarkable woman appears only once again in the sacred 
narrative, on the occasion of her marriage to one of the princes of 


12 


86 


RAHAB. 


Judah, the honored ancestress of David, and of David’s divine and 
greater Son. Two inspired apostles, however, have mentioned her 
name in terms of the highest commendation. Paul has enrolled it in 
the glorious catalogue of those of our race who have so signally- 
illustrated the conflict and conquest of faith ; while James has 
assigned to her, if possible, a still higher rank, placing her side by 
side with Abraham as a most illustrious example of the faith imputed 
for righteousness. 

There can indeed be little doubt that, in her earlier years, her life 
had been far from the paths of virtue ; and no one can deny that the 
directions she gave to the royal messengers concerning the spies, 
involved a gross departure from the truth. But to this it may be 
said, that from the time of her appearance in the sacred narrative, we 
know of no stain upon her personal character ; and in that crisis 
■when the representatives of the people of God sought her help in 
their extremity, it may indeed be difficult to determine what other 
course she ought to have taken. She might have been silent ; she 
might have acknowledged the presence of the spies in her dwelling. 
But, knowing as she did, that God had given the land to Israel, being 
assured that the city with its inhabitants was to be destroyed, she 
would, in either case, have exposed both her guests and herself to 
death, -wathout in the least degree averting the ruin of the city. She 
might have reasoned that deception in such a case could do no harm ; 
while it might save the lives not only of those who shared her 
hospitality, but of herself and her father’s house. If then, in her 
ignorance, she acted upon those principles of false morality in which 
she had been educated, and which were universally prevalent among 
her people, and was guilty of actual falsehood in relation to the spies, 
we may cease to wonder at, if we cannot excuse, her conduct in 
deceiving the men who sought their life. And before any one pleads 


R A II A B . 


87 


her example in excuse of his own departure from truth, let him wait 
till a recurrence of the same cii-cumstances shall justify his conduct. 

Kahab appears before us invested with many of the virtues which 
adorn the female character. 

In her breast was the law of hindness. She received and pro- 
tected the men of Israel when they sought the shelter of her roof, 
though she knew it was at imminent hazard. They were strangers, 
foreigners, enemies, spies. They had come for the very purpose of 
exploring her country that they might destroy its inhabitants, and 
seize upon its territory. But when they sought at her hands hospi- 
tality and help, she hesitated not a moment. With a spirit of 
generous self-sacrifice, she identified herself with her guests ; she made 
their case her own ; and though every other house in Jericho should 
be shut against them, hers should be open to receive them, and should 
afford them its protection, even if the king at the head of all his 
guards were thundering at her gates. 

She possessed peculiar energy and decision of character. Prepared 
by the Spii’it of God for that eventful crisis, she saw the whole case 
before her. That she was not without love for her country, we may 
infer from the love which she bore to her kindred. There must have 
been a sore, albeit a short struggle, in her breast when the question 
presented itself, whether she should give up her city and her people, 
and cast in her lot with utter strangers ; but she saw it to be the 
question whether she should do the will of God and share the portion 
of his people, or whether she should continue in the sin and share the 
destruction of his enemies. In such a case, she felt that she could not 
hesitate ; her mind was made up. With the decision of that noble 
daughter of Moab, whom perhaps she was spared to welcome as the 
wife of her son, she was ready to say to each of her guests : “ Thy 
people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” 


88 


RAHAB. 


Having formed her determination, she acted upon it with prompt- 
ness and energy. She saw the pressing danger, and resolved at 
once upon her course of conduct. Another mind would have been 
paralyzed with terror, but hers rose to meet the emergency. While 
her heart must have trembled for the safety of her guests, her courage 
did not fail her. Her instant and successful concealment of the spies, 
her ready tact in averting suspicion from her house and directing the 
pui-suers elsewhere, under such circumstances of agitation, indicate a 
mind not only fertile in its resources, but prompt and resolute in all 
its actions. 

But it is as a rare example of hei'oiG faiih^ that the character of 
Kahab especially commends itself to our attention. She was an 
ignorant heathen. From her infancy she had been taught to bow in 
worship to the idols of her country — the stock and the stone. She had 
known of no other religion, — ^no other God. Yet now, as from time 
to time she had heard the strange tales of this strange people, a nation 
whose religion was their peculiar characteristic, her attention was 
roused, her interest excited, her heart touched. A singular Provi- 
dence had brought two of this people to her dwelling. We may 
believe that she was not backward in improving the opportunity thus 
afforded her of inquiring after such a God. The knowledge that she 
thus obtained of Him, came as a gleam of light upon her darkened 
mind. She had as yet no promise that God or the people of God, 
would receive her. She knew not but they would spurn her from 
them as a polluted thing, but her heart was fixed. She would serve 
that God ; she would, if need be, sacrifice herself for his people. She 
knew not how this would avail her, but whether saved or lost, 
whether she should escape the ruin which she knew was coming upon 
her country, or whether she should be overwhelmed in the general 
destruction, she was determined to do right. She felt that she could 


RAHAB. 


89 


safely leave tlie issue in tlie hands of Him, whom, with the feeble 
light vouchsafed her, she had found to be the true Jehovah — the 
“ God in heaven above and in earth beneath ” The result demon- 
strated the soundness of her conclusions. Hers was the faith which 
proved the “ substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not 
seen.” The pen of inspiration has recorded her honored name, and 
the spirit of piety in every age has loved to look to her as one of that 
sainted number, the light of whose example rests upon the path to 
Heaven. 


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New-York.D. Appleton &.C?200.Broddway 


HEEODIAS. 


BY EBEKEZER HALLEY, D. D. 


Truth is seldom heard in the palaces of kings. Every avenue 
through which its unwelcome voice may he admitted is studiously 
closed, and they are beset on every hand by interested minions and 
sycophants, who address them in the most fulsome strains of courtly 
adulation. Should they perform any deed of clemency or justice, it 
is invariably extolled beyond its merits, while the most glaring acts 
of oppression and rapacity, of criminal pleasure or profuse expenditure, 
are vindicated on the ground that eminent station screens its possessor 
from the dread of censure or the possibility of punishment. Is it 
wonderful that, under such corrupt influences, the majority of 
monarchs should have disgraced the royal purple, and their names 
be consigned to indelible infamy on the page of history ? Contem- 
plate a being introduced at his birth into the luxury of a palace — 
profound statesmen and aged warriors paying him the most suppliant 
homage around his cradle — his wayward inclinations and capricious 
wishes in childhood entirely indulged — his education, instead of bracing 
the powers of his intellect and securing him against the contagious 
influences that surround him, conflned to a few superficial accomplish- 


92 


HEKODIAS. 


ments — taught to regard himself as superior to all control and inde- 
pendent of the tribunal of public opinion ; is it wonderful that under 
such perverse influences, a being, with the elements of a depraved 
nature within him, should, on his accession to a throne, be tyrannical, 
perfidious, sensual, effeminate, engrossed with the pursuit of his own 
selfish schemes, and indifferent to the rights and happiness of others ? 
Comparatively but few names are to be found on the page of history 
that have shed a lustre around the crown which they wore ; and they 
should challenge our admiration the more, that their virtues were 
cherished under such a vitiating atmosphere. 

Herod, whose name is incorporated with this narrative, was not 
one of these exceptions. His father, who is usually known as Herod 
the Great, was king of Judea at the nativity of our Saviour, and 
apj)rehensive in this event of a new rival to his throne, he caused all 
the children to be massacred in Bethlehem under a certain age. At 
his death, his kingdom was divided among his four sons. Archelaus 
reigned in Judea ; Philip was tetrarch of Iturea ; Lysanias, of Abilene ; 
and to Herod Antipas, was assigned the region of Galilee : hence he is 
commonly termed, in the New Testament, the tetrarch of Galilee. 
The character of the last of these is depicted by Josephus in the most 
unfavorable colors. He governed his subjects with oppressive severity, 
and never scrupled to perpetrate acts of flagrant injustice and atro- 
cious cruelty, when these would advance his measures of state policy. 
Nor is there any thing in his private hfe to redeem the infamous 
character of his reign or excite our respect and esteem. With a base- 
ness that showed a mind familiarized to every species of depravity, 
he invaded the hallowed sanctuary of domestic life, and seduced 
Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip of Iturea. In the purest 
epochs of the Jewish nation, such a grave offence would have been 
regarded as insulting alike to their country and rehgion, and have 


HERODIAS. 


93 


subjected the transgressor, however eminent his station, to the penal- 
ties attached to it in the divine law. But alas ! for Israel, her glory- 
had departed. That goodly stem which had cast forth its branches 
on every side verdant with blooming foliage, and fragrant with golden 
fruit, now existed in stunted deformity and rottenness, the caterpillar 
had devoured its beauty, and the canker-worm preyed upon its heart. 
The introduction of frivolous and unmeaning ceremonies had supplied 
the existence of vital piety. The expectation of a temporal Messiah 
diverted the minds of the people from contemplating the purposes of 
God in the arrangements of his grace, and it is not therefore to be 
wondered that among servile courtiers, a venal priesthood, and a 
community where the external forms of religion alone existed, such a 
scandalous offence should have been permitted to pass uncensured, 
not-svithstanding its pernicious influence upon public morals. There 
was one, however, who was found “ faithful among the faithless.” 
This was John the Baptist. He was a man of stern and austere 
habits, of indomitable courage, of a resolute devotedness to duty, 
which could neither be diverted by favor nor fro-wn. It is probable 
that his temporary seclusion in the wilderness may have given rise to, 
or at least strengthened, some of the features of his character. The 
habits of an individual are greatly moulded by external circumstances. 
Had John always resided in the populous city, he would still have 
retained his ascetic and morose habits ; how much then were these 
cherished when he lived as a solitaire in the vast desert, wandering on 
the summit of the hoary mountain, or reclining in profound meditation 
on the margin of the dark lake. Communing thus with nature in her 
wild and savage grandeur, his raiment composed of the hair of the 
camel, and his only food the locust or the wild honey obtained from 
the seams of the rock, it is not astonishing that when he appeared on 
the banks of the Jordan, he arrested the attention of the multitude. 


13 


94 


HEKODIAS. 


or that with the stem enthusiasm of a reformer, he should lash with 
unsparing invective the degeneracy of the age, denounce the supersti- 
tion of the Pharisee, and the skepticism of the Sadducee, and predict 
the judgments of Heaven upon all classes unless they should speedUy 
repent. 

The fame of John reached the royal palace, and Herod expressed 
an anxious wish to hear him. If the Baptist had been ambitious to 
secure the favor of the king and rise to influence and distinction in his 
court, his policy was sufficiently obvious. A temporizing preacher 
would have expatiated on the memory of the deceased Herod, and 
the influence of his eminent services on the stability and commercial 
prosperity of Judea ; or if allusion to religious topics seemed necessary, 
he might have descanted on the benevolence of the Deity, the marvel- 
lous domgs of his providence to the Jewish nation ; or the fulfilment 
of prophecy by the recent coming of the Messiah. Hay more, if it 
would have sullied the reputation of John, and been regarded as an 
indication of a craven and obsequious spirit, that he who unmasked so 
fearlessly the follies and vices of his hearers at the Jordan, should 
have passed unnoticed the scandalous conduct of Herod ; he could 
have preserved his consistency, and at the same time censured his 
royal auditor in terms so feeble, that his words might have fallen as 
pointless arrows to the ground. He might have represented it as a 
failing or impropriety, at variance with the strict rules of morality, 
though more excusable in those whose elevated station exposes them 
to the seductive influences of temptation. But John thundered against 
it with the honest indignation of a virtuous mind. In glowing colors f 
he painted its baseness in its reference to Philip his brother, the 
happiness of whose domestic circle he had ungenerously invaded ; its 
flagrant criminality as a violation of the law of God ; the injurious 
influence of his example upon the interests of public morals, and the 


HERODIAS. 


95 


vengeance of Heaven that should assuredly await him in another 
world. Such faithful representations were exceedingly unwelcome to 
Herod, accustomed only to the language of flattery ; and he ordered 
that John should be cast into prison. This has been often the treat- 
ment to which the faithful discharge of duty has subjected the people 
of God in this life. “Men hate the light because their deeds are 
evil.” They love those who “ prophesy to them smooth things,” and 
encourage them in the prosecution of their sinful pleasures; while 
those on the contrary, who faithfully reprove them, are addressed in 
the language of the monarch to the prophet : “ Get thee hence, for 
thou always speakest evd of me and not good.” Had Herod listened 
to the counsels of John (instead of ungenerously casting him into 
prison), how edifying would have been his repentance, how different 
his condition for eternity ! and even now who would not prefer the 
fate of John in his solitary prison, enjoying the sunshine of a serene 
conscience and the approbation of his God, to Herod in his magnifi- 
cent palace, stained with the most odious vices, and execrated by the 
wisest and best of his subjects ? There was one, however, whose rage 
had been stUl more powerfully enkindled, and who resolved that her 
victim should stiU more severely pay the forfeit of his temerity and 
insolence. This was Herodias, the guilty partner of Herod. It was 
not enough that he who was emphatically “ a burning and shining 
light,” and had devoted his eminent gifts to promote the reformation 
of his countrymen, should be now languishing within the walls of a 
prison, and arrested in his benevolent career of exertion ; her malice 
would be satiated with nothing short of the death of her victim. It 
seems scarcely credible that she could have cherished the idea of such 
an infamous crime ; yet the solution is to be found in the peculiar 
constitution of female character. Both the graces of her person and 
the retiring gentleness of her natm’e, enable woman to wield an 


96 


HEKODIAS. 


important influence over tlie moral and social condition of man. She 
strengthens the love of virtue, discountenances the progress of crime ; 
so that, in every country where her proper sphere has been assigned 
to her, the beneflcial influence of her example has been uniformly 
seen. In the shades of private life, she gives to every home the 
virtues which both guard and adorn it ; and the tastes and amuse- 
ments of society will be greatly modified according to the tone and 
standard of virtue which she exhibits. To enable her to sustain this 
important character, she is endowed by her Creator with a nice sense 
of propriety, a refined delicacy of feeling that recoils instinctively 
from the slightest infractions of pure and dignified sentiment ; so that 
the sensitive plant does not more naturally shi-ink from the touch, 
than woman, with her elevated sense of propriety, from the contact 
of profligacy and crime. This is one of those wise preventive checks 
in her nature so necessary to secure the peace of families, and produc- 
tive of the happiest results to the weU being of society. But when 
she once oversteps these hmits, her descent into the pollutions of vice 
will be rapid and desolating ; for under the humiliating conviction of 
her fall, and the consciousness that she has forfeited the esteem of the 
wise and virtuous, she plunges with reckless fury into the vortex of 
ungodly pleasures, and becomes in the emphatic language of Scripture 
“ earthly, sensual, devilish.” There is a fervor in the female bosom 
which glows with the sacred claims of honor, and is tremblingly alive 
to the nicer susceptibilities of the heart; but whenever this flame 
bums on the altar of impure affection and is debased by the noxious 
atmosphere of guilt, the retiring gentleness of her nature is destroyed ; 
the sacred boundaries of virtue once trespassed, are generally for ever 
abandoned, and a gulf, in most cases impassable, separates her from 
the blessings of religion, and the hope full of immortality. Herodias 
felt indignant at the faithful remonstrances of the Baptist. Wanting 


HERODIAS. 


97 


tlie support of a good conscience, and knowing tkat she had forfeited 
tke esteem of tlie virtuous class of the community, ske resolved to 
overawe public opinion upon ker conduct by tke weight of ker 
vengeance ; and as Jokn kad exposed tke vulnerable traits of ker 
character, not in tke bland language of tke courtier, but in tke stern 
and austere tones of a prophet, she calmly waited tke opportunity, 
when no longer restrained by tke fear of tke Jews, she might safely 
instigate Herod to put him to a violent death. 

Let us here pause, and contemplate Jokn undergoing tke punish- 
ment of a felon in a prison. He was tke victim of foul injustice, of 
mean and contemptible oppression. Does he lament that kis course 
of active labor is arrested, and that he is languishing within tke walls 
of a dungeon ? Does he regret tke stern fidelity with which he 
reprimanded Herod, and employ easy conciliatory measures to soften 
kis rage ? Does he murmur at tke Almighty in thus rewarding kis 
services by exposing him to obloquy and reproach ? No : tke breast 
of Jokn was filled with peace and holy confidence, kis prison was to 
him tke house of God ; and if its doors should open to conduct him 
to a bloody grave, kis spirit would wing its flight to tke mansions of 
heavenly glory. “ Tke fetters that I wear, are not tke ignominious 
badges of disgrace ; tke religion for which I am now suffering, shall 
triumph over tke malice of its enemies and tke powers of hell. I 
know in whom I have believed ; and though my body may be con- 
sumed at tke stake, or pierced by tke sword, my soul shall soar on 
eagles’ wings above tke sorrows of time, and be safe for ever in tke 
bosom of my God.” 

Let us pass from tke prison of Jokn to tke palace of Herod. It 
is kis birthday. His court kad been thronged during tke day with 
senators, ambassadors, priests, and noble families in Judea; and in 
tke evening he “ made a supper to kis lords, high captains, and chief 


98 


HERODIAS. 


estates of Galilee ” (Mark 6 : 21.) The festival presented no doubt 
every feature of pomp and magnificence. The richest viands, the 
costliest wines, the rarest and most sumptuous articles of furniture, 
and apartments brilliantly illuminated, gratified the monarch, and 
tended to promote the gayety and entertainment of his guests. While 
the scene was at its height and the heart of the king “ was merry 
within him,” he ordered that the daughter of Herodias should come 
and dance before the assembly. A modest female would have shrunk 
from such a proposal, regarding compliance with it as unbefitting the 
delicacy of the sex. But we are not startled when we read that no 
scruples were felt on the present occasion ; for the influence of such a 
mother, and the education which she would give to her daughter, 
(consisting only of showy and transient accomplishments, intended to 
impart symmetry and grace to the person and sprightly elegance and 
pohsh to the manners, instead of strengthening the faculties and 
inciting to the love of virtue,) would fit her for shining to the greatest 
advantage in such a gay assembly. 

Her dancing pleased the whole court ; and Herod was so delighted 
that he promised to give her whatever she should ask. This was the 
moment which Herodias had long ardently wished ; for which she had 
plotted and manoeuvred, expended all her ingenuity and influence, 
that she might hmi her deadliest vengeance on the head of the 
Baptist. Her toils were so completely around him, that escape was 
impossible. Accordingly, when her daughter returned and told of the 
unlimited offer of the king, she desired her to ask the head of John 
the Baptist. There was silence in the royal apartment when the 
daughter of Herodias entered. Hot long had she been absent in 
consultation with her mother, at once her parent and counsellor in 
wickedness, and now she stands before the king to present her 
request. All the nobles and courtiers of Galilee bent forward in 


HERODIAS. 


99 


eager expectation to catcli tlie sound of her words, and learn in tlie 
object of ber ambition, tbe bias of ber youthful nature. Sbe spoke, 
and ber words as they fell upon tbe ear amid tbe profoundest silence, 
appalled tbe stoutest beaids ; and even sent a pang of anguish into 
tbe heart of tbe monarch himself. He was now tbe unhappy victim 
of conflicting emotions. Pity whispered that tbe object of bis resent- 
ment was a man of no common attainments and piety ; and that if bis 
interference was uncalled for, be bad ab’eady suffered for it by 
a long imprisonment. Selfishness inculcated tbe impolicy of tbe 
measure, as tbe death of John might kindle tbe flames of a civil war 
in bis province. Malice prompted him to embrace this opportunity 
of ridding himself of this troublesome censor. And pride asked if 
bis royal promise and oath were to be set aside, and tbe daughter of 
a queen to be balked of ber wishes, by tbe claims of an obnoxious 
individual. 

Tbe way in which Herod should have extiicated himself out of 
tbe dilemma in which bis rash promise bad placed him is sufficiently 
obvious. His oath could extend only to objects over which be could 
claim tbe right of possession. But to Jehovah alone belong tbe issues 
of life and death, and therefore to sacrifice an innocent individual to 
tbe suggestions of a false honor, was a sin of tbe deepest dye. If it 
was wrong to have made such a promise, it was still more sinful to 
fulfil it. Would Herod, if bis daughter bad asked bis own bead, or 
that of one of bis eminent courtiers, or bad even insisted that tbe half 
of bis kingdom should be given to ber, have complied with ber request ? 
But bis anger against tbe prophet, tbe fear of tbe upbraidings of 
Herodias, and false conceptions of bis royal prerogative silenced tbe 
pleadings of justice, and tbe order was issued that John should be 
beheaded without tbe formality of a trial — without the least warning 
of bis fate. At midnight, when tbe palace of Herod was in a blaze of 


100 


HERODIAS. 


light and magnificence, the doors of the prison creak on their hinges 
as the rusty key of the jailer opens them ; a fiickering light is shed 
upon the gloomy walls, the Baptist is aroused from his sleep, the 
sword of the executioner promptly does its office, and his smoking 
head is brought to Herodias, that she might feast her eyes on the fall 
of her victim. Blessed martyr ! how glorious the course thou didst 
run upon the earth ! How faithful in labors, how inflexible in the 
midst of temptation ! “ Thou wast faithful unto the death, and hast 

received the crown of life.” Thou wast summoned to leave a prison, 
for a heavenly kingdom, the imprecations of felons, for the society of 
the blessed and the songs of paradise, and looked back on the suffer- 
ings on earth, “ as not worthy to be compared with the glory that is 
revealed.” 

History throws little subsequent light upon the guilty agents of 
this crime. The tradition that the daughter, in crossing a frozen lake, 
was killed by the ice giving way and severing her head from her body 
as she was sinking, is probably fabulous ; nor shall we make any use 
of the disasters which afterwards befell Herod, in being expelled from 
his kingdom; for the principle of judging of the characters of men 
from the state of affluence or misery in which they live, and connect- 
ing signal calamities with the commission of particular sins, is both 
dangerous and unsound. There is one incident, however, to which we 
must advert. When the fame of our Saviour’s miracles reached the 
ears of Herod, we read that he was perplexed, and said, “ It is John 
whom I beheaded, he is risen from the dead.” This was the testimony 
N of an accusing conscience. The Supreme Being hath enthroned in the 
breasts of men this faculty, which acts with all the authority of a 
judge, and testifies both to the criminality of an action and the cer- 
tainty of future punishment. Ho Delphic oracle is necessary to 
interpret its decisions. By no casuistry or long indulgence in vice can 


HERODIAS. 


101 


its voice be altogether drowned. It embitters the cup of pleasure 
and haunts the dishonest in the gains of illicit traffic. The murderer 
flies from the society of his fellows, to escape the arm of justice ; but 
there is a power that follows him from which it is impossible to escape. 
The image of his slaughtered victim presents itself m every step that 
he takes through the pathless forest ; and ever and anon as he stops, 
the cry of unavenged blood moans in every gale that sighs through 
the trees, trembles in the rustling of every leaf, and is heard in the 
murmuring of every distant streamlet that falls on his ear. When 
Cain was arraigned before Jehovah for the murder of his brother, he 
exclaimed, “ My punishment is greater than I can bear.” A declara- 
tion that appears strange, after having been assured of impunity from 
the hand of man. Ah ! he had that within him which surpassed the 
bitterness of aU temporal punishment, and in the grave of Abel were 
entombed his peace and comfort of mind. He was now stretched on 
the rack of a guilty conscience, and felt the first gnawings of that 
worm jthat never dies. Judas also, who betrayed our Saviour, was 
afterwards filled with dismay at his conduct. And why need he feel 
so ? — he had committed a meritorious action in the eyes of his coun- 
trymen, and he was liberally rewarded for it from the coffers of the 
treasury. There was blood on his hands that all the waters of Jordan 
could not wash away, and he sought a relief from the agonies of an 
accusing mind by an ignominious death. From the searching scrutiny 
and terrible reprisals of this internal accuser, neither Herod, nor his 
associates in the murder of John were ever exempt. They might try 
to silence its voice in a succession of frivolous amusements and sinfril 
pleasures, but it could not be entirely repressed. There were 
moments when it would pursue them to the pillow of sleep, and haunt 
them like a ghost in the stillness of solitude, and teach them how 
dearly purchased are the pleasures of sin, when accompanied by those 
14 


102 


HERODIAS. 


paroxysms of remorse, wliich bite like a serpent and sting like an 
adder. Thus God punishes the wicked even in this present life, for 
the violation of his law, and gives them a foretaste of their condemna- 
tion hereafter in an endless scene of punishment. 

The narrative which we have thus briefly sketched, teaches us 
some important lessons : 

How sampulously should we avoid the commission of sin when we 
contemplate its progresswe character. The base conduct of Herod in 
the matter of Herodias, led to the murder of John, and many other 
scandalous acts of his reign. If we would escape the remoter conse- 
quences of sin, let us watch over its incipient stages. Avoid the very 
appearance of evil. He that walketh in the counsel of the ungodly, 
will speedily stand in the way of sinners, until having drowned the 
con\dctions of conscience and renounced the obligations of religion, he 
finally sits down in the seat of the scornful. 

How tenderly should we cherish the convictions of conscience. Had 
Herod followed up -the impression produced upon his heart by the 
faithful ministry of John, he would have resembled David in the 
depth of his penitence, and his anxiety, as far as possible to repair 
the wrongs which he had inflicted. But instead of profiting by the 
voice of instruction, as David did under the faithful appeals of 
Hathan, Herod resents the interference of John, though he had invited 
him to address him, and finally, after a long imprisonment, consents 
that he should be put to death. Let this incident teach us the danger 
of trifling with the convictions of conscience. He who stifles, or 
wishes to repress its salutary voice, is only strengthening the vicious 
principles of his nature, and may come to commit those sins at which 
he would formerly have shrunk back in abhorrence. 

How preferable the state of the most abject Christian on earth to 
that of the most prosperous sinner. John in his solitary prison, with 


HERODIAS. 


103 


the testimony of a good conscience, and the smile of an approving 
Heaven, is more an object of respect than Herod amid the pageantry 
of a throne, the slave of his vicious passions, and constantly agonized 
by the upbraiding disquietude of an unpurified conscience. And if 
thus superior in time, O how much more when viewed in the light of 
eternity ! I have seen the wicked in great power, spreading himself 
like a green bay-tree, yet he passed away, and lo ! he was not. Yea, 
I sought him, but he could not be found. Mark the perfect, and 
behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace.” 









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THE LEVITE’S WIEE. 


BY N. 8. 8. BEMAIT, D. D. 

The biography of this unfortunate woman presents a bloody page in 
the history of Israel. It was a fearful age, which is generally true of 
every one that immediately succeeds protracted and sanguinary wars. 
The nation had been trained to arms. Their good old captain and 
patriarch, Joshua, had gone to rest. He was “ like a shock of corn 
fully ripe.” And, though he had not long ceased from the living, a 
scene of desolation already spread over the mountains and stretched 
along the valleys of the Holy Land. The Church and the State 
had kept pace with each other in the downward road. We read of 
but three Levites in the whole Book of Judges. Phineas was high 
priest, and we find him at his post in a trying national emergency, 
which grew out of the story we have commenced. A second was an 
ecclesiastical vagrant, from the same city which gave birth to the 
unhappy subject of this memoir, — who emigrated to Mount Ephraim, 
to get his bread, sold himself for a paltry sum to Micah, and who, 
together with Micah and his mother and their “ house of gods,” goes 
to make up a rare assemblage, — a man, who, ever true to his one 
master-passion, his own interest, deserted his employer, robbed him 


106 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


of Ms idols, joined a roving band wbo had sallied forth for conquest 
and spoil, and was instrumental in introducing image-worship into 
Dan. Though notorious to a proverb, he appears in the sacred 
history without a name^ and died without a record, and was buried 
without an epitaph. The story of the only remaining Levite alluded 
to in the Book of Judges, is intimately blended with our present 
narrative. These facts may throw some light on the state of religion 
and morals, in Israel, at that period to which this sketch belongs. 

Nor were the affairs of the State under any better regulation. 
“ In those days there was no king in Israel ; every man did that 
which was right in his own eyes,” They were not only destitute of 
the regal form of government, — which was an invention of a later 
period in Israel, — but they had no magistrate, no civil government. 
Every man was his own lawgiver and judge ; and anarchy, wide- 
spread and withering, covered the land. Property, reputation, virtue, 
life, were all equally insecure. The temptation and the opportunity 
were all that were needed ; and every thing that is lovely in the eye 
of Heaven, — aU that is cherished in the more hallowed scenes of 
home, — all that sweetens social life, and brings man into communion 
with a purer world, — all that renders earth charming, or desirable, 
or even tolerable, withers in the grasp of lawless passion. Our story 
is a leaf cut out of the history of such an age as this ; and, taken as a 
specimen-production, it is probably not a bad one. 

The incidents of this whole affair are recorded with a degree of 
minuteness not common in cases of this kind, no doubt as a warning 
against those obliquities of life which drew down upon the guilty 
agents the chastizing hand of Heaven. More fearful events, or in 
greater numbers, are nowhere crowded together on a few brief pages 
in the records of man. The divine historian presents the simple, 
though dark picture as the scenes occur, and leaves the moral lessons 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


107 


to be drawn from tliem to tbe instinctive promptings of tbe spirit 
wbicb dwells witbin us. Tbe facts of the record, preach the sermon ; 
and thought, by its own living power, makes the application. But 
the story itself should be told, for it is more spirit-stirring than any 
fine speculations of philosophy, or cool deductions of morals. 

In the days of the Judges, — and even these magistrates were 
rather nominal than real at this particular juncture, — an obscure 
Levite who dwelt in rural retirement upon “the sides of Mount 
Ephraim,” — ^the home of the vine, and the pomegranate, and the 
olive, — ^formed an attachment for a fair daughter of a citizen of 
Bethlehem- Judah. Their education, and associations, and habits of 
life were, no doubt, very different, and ill-adapted to each other. 
He had been reared in comparative obscurity, had been accustomed 
to climb the mountain acclivities, had subsisted on bread and fruits, 
had quenched his thirst at the cool bubbling spring that gushed up 
in living freshness from the earth; and his cheek was browned by 
morning exercise, as the early visitations of the sunlight came over 
from the east upon his wild abode. He went down into the wealthy 
and luxurious vaUey of Bethlehem-Judah, and there selected a 
companion of the more polished and less religious daughters of that 
city. A kind and confiding heart beat in his generous bosom ; and 
this Jewish maid was probably young, sprightly and gay ; and per- 
haps she added to the attractions which are associated with these 
epithets, beauty of form and face, and those accomplishments which 
belonged, in that day, to fashionable city life. She may have led the 
giddy dance, and sought and found her happiness in other youthful 
sports. Her heart, we may believe, was wholly upon the present 
enchanting scene, — its breathings had never gone upwards, much less 
had they ever reached heaven. She was HI adapted to become the 
wife of a Levite. But the eye of the mountaineer ensnared his heart. 


108 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


and tlie gay daughter of the Bethlehemite became the affianced of 
this inexperienced adventurer. It was lawful for a Levite to marry a 
daughter of Judah, — that is, to marry one of another tribe, provided 
she was not an heiress. The father was probably poor, and the 
daughter proud and aspiring. She became the wife of the Levite. 
She is so called in the margin^ though the term “concubine” is 
inserted in the text. She was “a lawful wife, though not wedded 
with all the forms and ceremonies of the Jewish ritual.” She was 
“ a wife without a dowry.” 

In due time, the Levite took his bride to his mountain home. 
But it proved an unhappy union. This exotic, transplanted from the 
vale to the rugged mountain’s side, did not find a genial soil and 
clime. She was not satisfied with her new home, and became 
alienated from her new protector. An old and quaint writer has 
remarked, — “ She came from the same city Micah’s Levite came from, 
as if Bethlehem- Judah owed a double ill to Mount Ephraim; for 
she was as bad for a Levite’s wife, as he for a Levite.” Her husband’s 
pursuits may have been too retired and grave, his habits too rustic, 
and his manner of living too simple and unpretending to gratify her 
taste, or fulfil her cherished anticipations. Whatever the cause may 
have been, true it is, she stepped aside from the right and safe path, 
and by a single act poisoned for ever the fountain of domestic peace. 
Different opinions have been entertained as to the precise nature of 
her offence. It may have been rashness, or it may have been crime. 

Our translation assumes the latter ground. It represents her as 
guilty of infidelity to her husband. The vow of devotion was set at 
nought, and given to the winds. She had met temptations in the 
retired and rural scenes of Mount Ephraim. The serpent crossed her 
path in the smooth and subtle form of the seducer, and the strength 
of principle was insufficient to meet the conflict with honor, and come 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


109 


out of it — wearing a myi’tle wreatli around a victor’s brow. She 
fell. Her education and habits had more of the soft and luxurious, 
than of the stern and unyielding ; and she became the prey of 
influences which had, peradventure, been long at work, — of former 
slight and specious indulgencies which had failed perhaps to offend 
her delicacy, or alarm her feara. Sin is small in its beginnings. The 
Hebrew sage has said, it is only “ the thought of foolishness.” But 
once admitted and sanctioned, its progress is often rapid, — ^it expands 
in words and deeds, and the whispers of “ the closet ” become the 
proclamations of “ the house top.” This misguided woman, if this 
was her crime, awoke from her delusions, and fled from her dis- 
honored home, in order to avoid her husband’s upbraiding eye, or the 
reproach and scorn of an outraged community, or the penalty of 
death awarded to the adulteress by the law of Moses. 

But it is thought by many, that the offence of this woman against 
her husband, was of a very different character, — far less deeply 
marked with guilt than that of conjugal infidelity. The Chaldee 
reads, “ She carried it insolently towards him, or despised him.” The 
Seventy and Josephus concur in this reading. Several modern com- 
mentators of niustrious name, have favored this construction. And is 
not this the more rational opinion % If she had fallen so low as to 
commit a crime for which an infamous death was inflicted by the law, 
we could not well account for the continued attachment and subse- 
quent conduct of the husband. 

Let us not, however, for mere theories, or even exegesis, lose 
sight of our story. This young woman became an unamiable and an 
unquiet wife. The honey-moon was followed by a sting. She became 
insolent to her husband ; and, having exhausted her bad passions on 
him, deserted a habitation which she had made any thing but a liome^ 
and, for the sake of enjoying greater freedom, retmed to her fathers’ 
15 


110 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


house. Here she was received, and entertained for “ four whole 
months,” — though from what motives, on the part of the father, does 
not appear in the narrative. Whatever may have been the nature 
of her offence, whether it was infidelity to her husband, the stain of 
which even the stream of time, that, in its perpetual flow, changes 
almost every thing, never washes out from the character of a wife ; 
or whether it was made up of oft-repeated acts of iiTitation — 
numberless and nameless — true it is, she was an unquiet spirit. Her 
husband is wantonly deserted upon Mount Ephraim, and this young 
bride is once more in her father’s house at Bethlehem-Judah ! And 
the fault was all her own. Here she seems to have been welcomed, 
and treated kindly. It may be that her father had not heard at all 
of her dornestic troubles, of her own bearings as a wife, or of her 
desertion of her husband. Those were not the days of well-con- 
structed roads, much less of railways and electro-magnetic telegraphs. 
The iron-horse feeding on flame, and the iron-pavement forming his 
foot-course, had never been dreamed of ; and the magic wires on 
which the lightning travels, as if endowed with thought, annihilating 
time and space, had not even an embryo being in the anticipations of 
the most enthusiastic progressive. Near neighbors often hved and 
died ignorant of each other. This woman too had the advantage of 
telling her own story ; and if her failings had been hinted at, — or her 
dishonored home, — either by father or daughter, the most favorable 
construction was, no doubt, put on her conduct. She may have been 
spoiled in her childhood, and such never fail of having their own way 
in after life. Father, mother, brother, sister, husband, may stand up 
in their way in vain, — their course is right onward. A petted female 
beauty is sure to pay back, in the days of mature folly, to somebody^ 
insolence for all the adulations which have been la\dshed upon her in 
infancy. This misguided woman may have been of this class ; for 


TUE LEVITE’S WIPE. 


' 111 


such have been found in every country, and in all ages. Possibly 
her mother, — that best friend of om* early days, whose voice is so 
soothing and so subduing, whose soft hand heals the very wound 
it inflicts by way of correction; and who, as she clasps the little 
offender to her warm bosom, both punishing and restoring by the 
same act, breathes her own blessed spirit through aU the inner 
sanctuary, and over the quickening germ of immortality which lies 
concealed in these deep chambers — ^this rrwther-friend may have long 
since ceased from the living, and rested with the dead. Like Kachel, 
whose grave and monument were near by, she may have died young, 
and left an infant to grow up, and struggle through life, as best it 
might, without a mother’s caresses, and tears, and prayers. 

Her motives in taking refuge in her father’s house may have been 
various. It was the home of her infancy and childhood, and it would 
have its sweet associations ever ; or she might here again enjoy 
freedom from all control, and do as she pleased, and gratify her own 
caprices ; or she might hope, in this seclusion, to find a shelter from 
that storm which she had created for herself, and be veiled from the 
reproachful, or the scornful gaze of those who had been wounded by 
her fall, or who had gloried in that event. She remained here “ four 
months,” perhaps a self-imprisoned victim, — probably knowing and 
caring little about the world, and the world quite as indifferent about 
her. Her love for her husband, if she ever had any, was extinguished. 
This anchor of the married woman, that secures her from dangers in 
the darkest night of peril, — in the most fearful ocean-storms, — had 
been torn away. She had drifted from her haven, and had become 
a wreck. 

But there is one heart which goes out in kindness after this poor 
fugitive from her own appropriate resting-place. The Levite of the 
mountain can overlook her foUies and her faults, — whatever they 


112 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


may liave been, — tbougb be himself had been the chief sufferer — ^if 
affairs may be reconciled, and she again return to her position and 
duties as a wife. His purpose was no sooner formed, than he set 
himself about its execution, for love is prompt to act. He took his 
servant and two asses, and set his face towards Bethlehem- Judah. On 
his arrival he was kindly received, both by father and daughter, and 
must have found himself quite at home. His determination to depart 
and seek again his own residence was overcome, day by day, by the 
importunity of his father-in-law and his generous and cheerful hospi- 
tality, till the afternoon of the fifth day, when his purpose became too 
strong to be changed. This proved an unfortunate moment for all 
concerned ; for had he commenced his journey in the morning, the 
evening might have welcomed him home. But such was not the 
purpose of God. He had a testimony to bear, in these matters, for 
which things are ripening fast. These three shall never meet again. 
“ For the transition,” as one has said, “ from the house of joy to the 
house of mourning, is but from one room to another.” After a ride 
of about six miles, they arrived over against the ancient Jebus, 
afterwards Jerusalem, and it became apparent that they must soon 
seek a shelter for the night. The servant counselled to apply for 
lodgings to the Jebusites ; but his master declined on the ground that 
they were strangers and aliens, and he would prefer entertainment 
among his own people. By the time they came to Gibeah, belonging 
to Benjamin, “ the sun went down upon them ;” and, when they 
alighted in the streets, no door of hospitality was open to bid them 
welcome. They might have shared better among the heathen. 

Here they purposed to spend the night ; but an old man came from 
his work in the field, at evening, himself from Mount Ephraim, and 
was attracted by the appearance of these strangers in the streets. 
Their greetings were brief, and an acquaintance was soon formed. 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


113 


They were prepared to sympathize in relation to the want of hospi- 
tality in Gibeah. It was not for the lack of means. Its citizens lived 
in luxury. Their storehouses and cellars were filled with abundance ; 
and yet, contraiy to the kind usages of the day, these benighted 
travellers are permitted to take up their lodgings in the open air. 
There are indications of character here which we must not forget ; for 
they stand connected with fearful, and not far distant events. The 
generous old man made their wants his own, brought them into his 
habitation, furnished cool water for their feet, and spread a suitable 
repast for their entertainment. Their hearts were merry. They 
enjoyed this social interview. They were happy. They experienced 
what Natm’e’s poet has long since that period made immortal in his 
verse, — for the truth here embodied is older than the art of writing, 
— it is coeval vith social man : 


“ The quality of mercy is not strained ; 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed ; 

It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.” 


But while aU is sunshine and joy within, a death-storm is brewing 
without. 

The “ sons of Belial ” are assembled. These men cannot weU be 
described. It almost makes us blush to think we belong to the same 
race with them. One has said they were “ worse than beasts, being a 
compound of beast and devil inseparably blended.” They burn with 
lust ; they thirst for blood ! They threaten the life of the Levite, and 
they are appeased only by the surrender of his wife to their disposal. 
But the scenes of that dark night are not fuUy written. The divine 
pen has forbore the task. They cannot be painted. The dyes must 


114 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


come from a deeper world than this, — farther removed from the sweet 
light of heaven, — in order to carry with them a due expressiveness. 
And the Artist, — who should he be ? Angel, or “ archangel ruined ?” 
l^Tience should we evoke him ? From above, or from below ? But 
God drew, with his own hand, the pall of night over these scenes, in 
some respects worse than infernal. But the morning discloses the 
results. As the early dayspring visits our world, all is still in Gibeah. 
The noise and riot, and oaths and threats of blood, which made the 
darkness appear more dread, have passed away, and the brutal actors 
in these horrid scenes have gone, like beasts of prey, to their dens. 
To such daylight is odious. But glance your eye towards the humble 
dwelling of the good old man, from Mount Ephraim, who opened his 
door of hospitality to the Levite and his wife, who, overtaken by the 
nightfall, had encamped in the streets for want of better accommoda- 
tions. It is now early dawn, the sweetest hour in all the day, 
in oriental climes. The east begins to glow with a mellow light, and 
a few herald beams have spread a golden hue upon the mountain-tops. 
But at that door — what do you see ? Surely it is not for plain prose 
to teU. Nor yet for poetry. It is a subject for the Pencil. The eye 
of the artist seizes the “ tout ensemble ” at a glance, and if nature 
should have failed in any delicacy or adjustment, imagination promptly 
supplies the defect. Do you ask who this female is ? You know her. 
It is the youthful wife of the Levite of Mount Ephraim. Her hands 
rest on that threshold which she attempted to attain with her feet. 
She hoped once more to cross that threshold and meet her husband, 
whose life had been purchased by her disgrace. But it was all in 
vain ! She faifited, and fell never to rise again. The eye is not 
closed, — but it is closing^ in death. The warm glow of life has just 
begun to recede from the cheek, and the pale king has commenced 
the work of imparting his own hue, and thus painting her as the 


THE LEVITE’S WIEE. 


115 


future inruate of his own chambers. And this is the death-scene of 
the bride of Bethlehem- Judah ! 

But what were the feelings of the Levite, when, a moment after, 
he opened the door, and found his wife dead ? She is a murdered 
woman. He felt it in deep agony, as the sequel discloses. She is 
murdered too, not by Pagans, the devotees of dumb idols, — this 
might have been some alleviation ; but she is murdered, with attend- 
ant acts of nameless brutality, by the children of faithful Abraham, — 
by their brother Benjamin. He lays her upon his ass, and, with his 
servant, makes his way home to Mount Ephraim, with a heavy heart. 
But who shall tell his frantic grief, when he performed the dreadful 
deeds that followed. With his own hand he took a knife and 
divided her into “ twelve parts, and sent her into all the coasts of 
Israel.” The object was to arouse the nation in view of the horrid 
crimes of Gibeah. And the measure was effectual, for all that saw it 
said, “ There was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the 
children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day.” 
The tribes were assembled at Mispeh, — “ four hundred thousand foot- 
men that drew the sword.” The bereaved Levite addressed the 
assembly, giving a simple and touching recital of events which had 
occurred on that dark and memorable night in Gibeah ; and the 
appeal was thrilling. But one heart beat in the bosoms of this vast 
multitude ; and they resolved neither to go to their tents nor their 
homes, till these bloody deeds were avenged. It is certainly very 
creditable to Israel, that in that dark age, and under these strongly 
exciting causes, they made a fair proposal to that wicked city. They 
would refi’ain from all hostile acts, if Gibeah would deliver up “ the 
children of Belial,” who had done these deeds, that they might be 
punished by death, and thus “put away evil from Israel.” This 
reasonable request was rejected, and there remained no alternative. 


no 


THE LEVITE’S WIPE. 


The law must l3e honored. Public justice must be vindicated. The 
character of Abraham’s God is at stake, — and the conflict of battle 
came. The struggle was fearful. On both sides, in a few days, more 
than forty-five thousand trained warriors fell upon the field ; and a 
promiscuous slaughter of men, women, and childi-en, and even beasts, 
followed in Benjamin, till this tribe was well nigh exterminated. 

But the sequel we canot pursue in detail. It seemed necessary 
to glance at these events, in order to discover more clearly the divine 
purpose in placing the biography of this woman upon the pages of his 
own book. It stands there as a beacon-light, streaming far over the 
ocean-wave of life, telling where the headlands appear, disclosing the 
hidden rocks where many a gallant bark has been stranded, or the 
quicksands, where many a warm-hearted, but inexperienced rover of 
the deep, has gone down, in some fearful night, to be seen no more. 
This little page of domestic life is intended to teach us what some 
very good Christians overlook, — the doctrine of earthly retribution. 
Not such a retribution as supersedes the necessity of one in the future, 
but such a one as must establish the fact, that a day of fuU and final 
reckoning will come. The partial, though still appalliug achievements 
of sin in the bitter fruits of suftering here, are so many divine intima- 
tions of what it will do hereafter, when it shall cease to be modified 
by probation, and restraining mercy shall give up her control. No 
one can contemplate such events as are here spread out before us, 
without being prepared to say, “ Yerily he is a God that judgeth in 
the earth.” This great truth stands here recorded in the hand- 
wi’iting of God ; it is attested by the seal and signature of the 
Unchangeable. How fearful is the Almighty, when he comes out of 
his holy place to punish guilty individuals, or guilty nations ! 

Nor can we fail to see in the record of these events the great end 
of all human training and all self-discipline. It is to bring the 


THE LEVITE’S WIFE. 


iin 


passions under the control of reason and religion. Upon the subjected 
spirit you may ingraft eveiy virtue and every grace ; and flowers and 
fruits, in mingled richness and beauty, may be seen to cluster on all 
the futm’e branches. But self-will and self-indulgence are the har- 
bingers of ruin. Evil passions, if cherished, will soon become the 
active elements of mischief, — they will be braided into a whip of 
scorpions, with which we shall scourge ourselves and others. We 
have, in this Bible story, the fully developed pictm’e of which the 
heaven-instructed James has spoken. We have the inception, the 
progress, the end of moral evil. “ When lust hath conceived, it 
biingeth forth sin ; and sin when it is finished, bringeth forth death.” 



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WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


BY ET. EEV. J. P. K. HENSHAW, D. D. 

In tlie life of Him wlio was God as well as man, wlio, having in- 
habited the praises of eternity, laid aside his glory, and condescended 
for a season to tabernacle in poverty and sorrow upon earth, — no fact 
is unimportant. On the contrary, every event related in the brief 
history of his temporary sojourn amongst men is worthy of serious 
regard, as having a bearing, directly or remotely, upon the great end 
of his Incarnation. 

An illustration of this geneml remark, may be found in that simple 
narrative of an incidental interview between Jesus and a poor Samari- 
tan woman, recorded in the fourth chapter of the Gospel according 
to St. John. The circumstances, separately considered, were trifling 
and unimportant ; yet, like the finer touches of the pencil in a land- 
scape, each one is essential to the perfection of the picture ; and the 
whole, combined, presents a subject worthy of our most profound 
reflection, and pregnant with high results in reference to the character 
of our Lord, the destiny of the poor woman herself, and the salvation 
of her countrymen. 

In the brief space allotted to the present article we cannot bring 


120 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


out, in its fulness, all tlie teaching contained in this part of the 
inspired pages ; yet, as we know nothing of the history of the Sa- 
maritan woman, except what is contained in a brief chapter of the 
sacred volume, we must glance at the leading incidents recorded, or 
we shall fail to give any thing like completeness to the sketch which 
we stand pledged to attempt. 

The Evangelist informs us that our Lord, being at Jerusalem, pur- 
posing to retm*n to Galilee, where he had been brought up, “ must 
needs go through Samaria.” For this necessity there was a geographi- 
cal reason, because Samaria lay at the north of Judea, between it and 
Galilee. There was also, we may believe, a providential reason, 
arising from his gracious purpose to change the character of a sinful 
woman, and through her, to impart the light of truth to many of her 
ignorant neighbors and acquaintances. The province of Samaria was 
originally inhabited by the Cuthites. Its chief city, one of great 
beauty and strength, was built in the days of Omri, whose reign com- 
menced about one thousand years before Christ. Although built 
upon a hill, it was abundantly supplied with water, and had command 
of every thing which could minister to the temporal comfort and 
enjoyment of its inhabitants. We may form some idea of their 
excessive refinement and luxury, and of the injustice and oppression 
by which their sensual indulgences were sustained, from the language 
in which God’s judgments against them were pronounced : “ I will 
smite the winter-house with the summer-house^ and the houses of ivory 
shall perish, and the great houses shall have an end, saith the Lord. 
Hear this word, ye kine of Bashan, that are in the mountain of 
Samaria, which oppress the poor^ which crush the needy ^ which say to 
their masters, bring, and let us drink.” * 


Amos iii. 15, and iv. 1, 2. 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


121 


But what invests Samaria with its chief interest to the biblical 
reader is, that it was the chosen abode of the ten tribes who revolted 
and formed a separate kingdom under Jeroboam. “ Only the two 
tribes of Judah and Benjamin remained subject to the house of 
David, and formed the kingdom of Judah, while the ten rebellious 
tribes styled themselves the kingdom of Israel. The kings of Judah, 
who possessed the south of the promised land, resided at Jerusalem 
on Mount Zion. The kingdom of Israel comprised aU the northern 
districts, and its royal residence was first the fortified hill of Thirza, 
and afterwards the city of Samaria. The two kingdoms were almost 
at perpetual war with each other. But a worse evil was theii' intes- 
tine disorder. Jeroboam began his reign by introducing from political 
motives, a new idolatry. He was apprehensive that if the people 
continued in connection with the Temple and worship of God, at 
J erusalem, they would gradually faU away from him again, and return 
under the dominion of the house of David. He therefore made an 
imitation of the golden cherubim of the Temple, transferred some of 
the festivals to other seasons, and chose priests out of all the tribes of 
the people at his own pleasm*e, without restriction to the tribe of 
Levi. . This unlawful and schismatical worship became open idolatry, 
when, in the year 900 before the birth of Christ, king Ahab ascended 
the throne of Israel. Then it was, at the instigation of his wife 
Jezebel, that ungodly woman of Sidon, that the worship of Baal 
became the established religion of the country, and the worshippers of 
the true God were persecuted with fire and sword.” 

But before the days of our Saviour, indeed as far back as the days 
of Esar-haddon, the Samaritans had been reclaimed from their gross 
idolatries, returned to the irregular and corrupt Tforship of the true 
God, reverenced the Pentateuch as of divine origin, professed to be 
governed by the law of Moses, and falsely claimed the privileges and 


122 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


distinctions wliich belonged to tbe descendants of the fathers of the 
Je’wdsb nation. Hence this woman, in her interview with Christ, 
boasted that Abraham and the Patriarchs had worshipped upon 
Mount Gerizim; and in proof of the fact, referred to the well of 
Jacob, by which they were then standing. Hence, too, om* Lord does 
not so much charge upon this woman and the Samaritans generally, 
the gross sin of worshipping idols, as the guilt of professedly worship- 
ping Jehovah in ignorance of his true character and promises ; and in 
places, and by means unsanctioned by his authority. 

The fact that the religion of the Samaritans was corrupted 
Judaism, and that, while they rejected some of the peculiar institu- 
tions of the chosen people, they professed to be governed by the law, 
and laid claim to the promises made to the fathei*s, will account for 
the peculiar bitter aversion which existed between the two races. 
The Jews looked with more abhorrence upon a Samaritan, than they 
did upon an avowed heathen. They would have “ no dealings” with 
him, even in the way of ordinary traffic, without great necessity; 
much less any friendly intercourse in the bland com’tesies and tender 
charities of life. 

But Jesus, our Master, was thrown into close association and 
familiar conference with one of a race most hated by his countrymen. 
His efforts, during the brief interview, were put forth to remove the 
prejudices and soften the asperities which existed between the two 
hostile races ; and to prepare the way, not only for their reconcilia- 
tion, but for their being made one in him. Having travelled about 
a day’s journey from Jerusalem, and arrived in the vicinity of 
Sychem, or Sychar, a city of Samaria : being as a man liable not only 
to weariness and fatigue, but also to hunger and thirst, — oppressed 
and exhausted with his toilsome journey, he seated himself by the 
well of Jacob, where water was to be obtained; and sent his 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


123 


disciples into tlie neigliboring city, to procure food. While thus 
reposing by the well, he saw a woman come thither to draw water ; 
and he “ saith unto her, give me to drink.” 

Let us draw near to that “ well of our father Jacob,” and listen 
to the interesting conversation which took place between this strange 
woman and Him who spake as never man spake. Let us do it with 
a reverent spirit, that we may be refreshed by our approach to the 
living fountain, and with joy “ di’aw water from the well of 
Salvation.” 

The first lesson which we learn from this memorable conference, 
relates to the superhuman nature and the divine power of our Lord 
Jesus ChiTst. He sat by the well, oppressed with the heat of the 
day and wearied with the fatigues of his journey. There was nothing 
in his appearance to indicate his higher nature, or to distinguish 
him from ordinary foot travellers. And, therefore, his request for a 
draught of water, called forth a reply indicative only of surprise and 
censure. The woman said, “ How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest 
drink of me which am a woman of Samaria ?” But how must her 
surprise have been magnified when she heard his mysterious reply : 
“ If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith unto thee. 
Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would 
have given thee living water.” The woman, with her carnal views, 
could form no proper conception of the meaning of his reply. She 
thought only of the living waters bubbling from the deep hidden 
fountain of the well ; and, therefore, referred to its great depth, and 
to the fact of his having no vessel which could reach it. Yet she 
seems to have conjectured that there might be some other and higher 
meaning in his words, and accordingly inquired. Whether he was to 
be considered as any other, than he appeared ; whether he claimed to 
be “ greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank 


124 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


thereof himself, and his children and his cattle ?” Jesns had no wish 
to lessen her good opinion of the pure nature and the refi’eshing 
properties of the water of that ancient well, but proceeded to show 
the wide difference between it and the water of which he spake. 

“ Whosoever diinketh of this water, shall thirst again ; but whoso- 
ever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst : 
but the water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water 
springing up into everlasting life.” 

We, who have access to the Scriptures of the New Testament, as 
wen as the Old, can be at no loss as to the meaning of our Saviour’s 
words. He had before spoken of himself as “ the Gift of God,” the 
Messiah promised to the fathers, predicted by the prophets, and 
foreshadowed in the sacrifices of the Law : the great, the unspeakable 
gift of Heaven to a sinful world. He now speaks of that other gift 
which was the leading promise of his own personal ministry, — the 
Holy Ghost, the comforter, — which they that beheve in him should 
receive. The Spirit is often spoken of by the inspired writers under 
the emblem of living water. His influence is beautifully dlustrated 
by the cleansing and refreshing properties of that element. As 
defilement is removed by the application of water, so is the pollution 
of the soul washed away by the grace of the Spirit. As the bud 
expands, and the flower sheds forth its fragrance, and the fruit ripens 
under the gentle dews and showers ; so the graces of the soul, the 
virtues of the character, the holy duties of the Christian life derive 
beauty, and strength, and maturity from those influences of the Holy 
Spirit which descend upon us like dews upon the hill of Hermon, or 
like showers which water the earth. As after the genial visitations 
of the rain from heaven, the fleld, which was before parched and 
withered, appears clothed with verdure and laughs for joy ; so the 
barren and desolate heart, burnt over as it were, by the flres of 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


125 


affliction, becomes cheerful and jubilant under the refreshing and 
consolatory operations of grace from on high. The fountain of divine 
influence, opened by the Eedeemer, is overflowing ; and “ whosoever 
will, may come and take the waters of life freely.” Yet, alas ! how 
few are there who comply with the gracious invitations of the Gospel ! 
How few earnestly pray for that Holy Spirit which our Heavenly 
Father declares himself more ready to bestow than affectionate 
parents are to give good gifts to their children ! How small a 
number are punctual attejidants upon those sacraments and ordi- 
nances of the Church, which are not only seals of grace and pledges 
of salvation, but also conduits through which the water of life flows in 
upon the souls of devout recipients ! 

The great majority turn away from the living fountain, and vainly 
try to slake their immortal thirst at the “ broken cisterns ” of the 
world “ which can hold no water.” “ The world can never give the 
bliss for which we sigh.” It promises but to deceive ; it allures only 
to destroy. Its riches take to themselves wings and fly away. The 
fullest indulgence in its pleasures is followed with the bitterest dis- 
appointment. Those who have attained its highest honors and worn 
its brightest diadems, as they gaze upon the fading glories of ambi- 
tion, are forced to exclaim “ vanity of vanities, — all is vanity.” 

“ He that drinketh of this water shall thirst again.” There is 
nothing in the possessions or enjoyments of the world that can satisfy 
the wants of an immortal spirit. Whatever amount of success may 
have crowned our efforts in the pursuit of earthly honor or wealth, to 
whatever degree our indulgence in sensual pleasure may have been 
carried, — there is still a feeling of bitter disappointment ; a conscious 
vacancy and inanition of mind ; “ an aching void the world can never 
fill.” Many of the readers of these pages have doubtless often _ 
made these profitless experiments, and wearied themselves in these 
17 


126 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


exhausting efforts to find abiding happiness in those things where it 
never has been, and never can be, found. Would that we could wean 
them from those “ lying vanities,” and persuade them to come to the 
fountain of that water which is always refreshing, always satisfying, 
because it springs up unto everlasting life ! O that all would offer 
the prayer of the Samaritan woman ; using her words in a higher 
sense than she attached to them : “ Sir, give me this water, that I 
thirst not ! ” 

The views of this poor woman were altogether carnal and earthly. 
Although, like some wicked people, willing to engage in religious 
controversy about the circumstantials of rehgion, she had no right 
conception of its essentials. Like some in our day, who are forward 
to contend for the peculiarities of the sect with which they have an 
hereditary or educational connection, while utterly ignorant of the 
fundamental verities of the Catholic faith, she was ready to become 
the champion of the peculiarities of the Samaritans in opposition to 
the usages of the Jews, though blind to all that is essential in the 
faith and practice of a true servant of God. She had no just compre- 
hension of the meaning of our Saviour’s words, and no preparation 
of heart for the reception of the blessings which he came to bestow 
upon mankind. 

It was necessary that she should know herself before she could 
become wise unto salvation. Our Lord, therefore, proceeded to pre- 
pare her for the reception of the saving knowledge of the truth, by 
revealing to her the secrets of her own heart and life, and by calling 
her transgressions to remembrance. 

He said to her, “ Go call thy husband.” To which, as if uncon- 
scious of the gross wickedness of the guilty state ia which she was 
li\dug, — she replied, “I have no husband.” “Jesus said unto her. 
Thou hast well said, I have no husband ; for thou hast had five 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


127 


husbands, and he whom thou now hast, is not thy husband : in that 
saidst thou truly.” What must have been her amazement to find 
that this stranger — this plain wayfaring man, — was thus intimately 
acquainted with all the supposed secrets of her guilt, and had thus, 
in a single sentence, revealed the imquity of her life ! Filled with 
wonder, she acknowledged him to be a Prophet. But, desirous of 
relieving her mind firom unpleasant reflection, and of suppressing that 
consciousness of guilt which the Master’s reproof had awakened, she 
instantly sought refuge in controversy, and wished to engage him in a 
dispute as to the respective claims of Mount Gerizim and Mount Zion 
to be the only place of offering acceptable worship to Jehovah. Our 
Saviour, intent upon the execution of his purpose of mercy to this 
sinful soul, was not thus to be diverted from it. With great solemnity 
he reminded her, that although such questions might have seemed 
important once, they were so no more. “ Believe me,” said he, “ the 
hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the 
Father in spirit and in truth ; for the Father seeketh such to worship 
hiuL God is a Spirit ; and they that worship him, must worship him 
iu spirit and in truth.” 

The woman then professed her faith in the Messiah that was to 
come, and who should teach them all things. Upon this, J esus, who 
had studiously refrained from making known his Messiahship to the 
Jews, fully proclaimed the fact to this poor sinful woman of Samaria. 
“ Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am He.” 

It is fair to presume that in this brief narrative, somewhat minute 
though it be, there is not a record of aU the particulars which occurred 
in that momentous interview. We may suppose that our Saviom* 
referred to many private incidents in the life of this woman, affording, 
even to her darkened mind, clear demonstration of her corruption and 
guilt ; that by the influence of his grace she became possessed of an 


128 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


humble and contrite heart, and was inspired with lively faith in him 
as the promised Messiah, the only Saviour of the world. AU this 
seems to be implied in her address to the citizens of Samaria : “ Come, 
see a man which told me all things that ever I did ; is not this the 
Chiist?” These words are indicative of a penitent and believing 
heart. Her conversion is fuidher manifest from her anxiety to make 
known the glory of Jesus to her friends and neighbors, and persnade 
them also to believe in and foUow him. 

The character of this woman was libidinous, and the habits of her 
life had been criminal. Yet, like Mary Magdalene, the poor woman 
of Canaan, and the sinful woman who washed the Master’s feet 
with her tears and wiped them with the hairs of her head, we 
believe she became the subject of his pardoning mercy and renewing 
grace. 

The proud Pharisees censured Jesus for conversing with publicans 
and sinners. And many, bearing the Christian name, are sm’prised 
that he was so condescending and tender in his regards for some of 
the most unworthy, and selected some of the vilest of the vile to be 
the recipients of his grace, while many of the more moral and decent 
were left to perish in ignorance and sin. ' It would be a sufficient 
answer do these scruples of unbelief, to quote the words of Jesus in 
reference to a hke objection to the will and procedm’e of the Eternal 
Father in a case almost precisely similar ; “ Even so. Father ; for so it 
seemeth good in thy sight.” But we think we can perceive in his 
condescending mercy to some flagrant transgressors, a clear proof of 
the pure benevolence of his divine mission, and an affecting illustra- 
tion of the fundamental truth that salvation is by grace. “ He came 
not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” He came to 
seek and to save that which was lost. The “ faithful saying, worthy 
of all acceptation,” which it is the grand design of the Gospel to 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


129 • 


announce, is, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, 
of whom adds St. Paul, “ I am chief.” None hut those who acknow- 
ledge and feel their own sinfulness are meet recipients for the blessings 
of Christianity. For want of this, the Pharisees rejected Christ; 
for want of this, the proud and self-righteous in every age have 
rejected him. 

It may be that some of the fair readers of these pages, of spotless 
reputation, enjoying the applause and admiration of the world, and 
exulting in the attentions and caresses of the highest circles of society, 
may be indulging self-complacent reflections upon their freedom fr-om 
open viciousness of life, and proudly thanking God that they are not 
like this poor sinful woman of Samaria. Let them remember that 
“ pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” 
The sins of the most degraded of our race show what human nature 
is capable of, and the extent of evil to which it would carry us aU if 
left to follow its unrestrained propensities. In every unrenewed heart 
may be found the root of that tree which has produced the deadliest 
fr-uit. Our readers may be exempt from all degrading vices ; they 
may never have stained the bridal robe, or been guilty of any viola- 
tion of connubial rights ; they may never have stooped to vicious 
associations in the pursuit of admiration, and, in the whirl of earthly 
amusement and sensuous pleasure, they may have kept within the pre- 
scribed limits of innocent indulgence. But dare they set up a plea to 
innocence and purity in the presence of that Holy One in whose sight 
the heavens are not clean ? Ah ! when the piercing eye of Him who 
told the Samaritan woman all things that ever she did is flxed upon 
their characters, how much does it behold that is worthy of abhor- 
rence, and makes them liable to the severest sentence of that law 
which requires perfection in thought, word, and deed ! If the Omnis- 
cient Saviour should expose to view all the secret records of their past 




130 WOMAN OF SAMAKIA. 

lives ; if he should rescue from obhvion and hold out to the public 
gaze, — as he will one day do, — every lascivious look, every impure 
feeling, every inordinate affection, unruly desire, and unhallowed 
thought ; if he should bring up from the deep recesses of treacherous 
memory the shades of proud, vain, envious, unhallowed emotions, 
followed by the ghosts of broken vows, murdered hours, profaned 
Sabbaths, neglected sermons, and abused means of grace, — O ! how 
would every face be suffused with blushes and covered with con- 
fusion ! How would every heart and voice be filled with confessions, 
wailings, lamentations, and cries for mercy ! How much better to do 
this now, than amidst the terrors and despair of the last day, to cry, 
“ Kocks, fall on us ; and mountains, cover us ; and hide us from the 
face of him that sitteth upon the throne, and from the wrath of the 
Lamb : for the great day of his wrath is come, and who shall be able 
to stand ?” 

We do not deny that there are gradations of guilt, and that some 
human beings are much more polluted by sin than others. But we 
do insist that all have sinned ; and that the least guilty can be saved 
in no other way than the guiltiest may be : that is, by grace through 
faith in the merit of our Lord Jesus Christ. For the most moral and 
virtuous amongst us, no other terms of salvation have been provided 
than those which were made known to the Samaritan woman. We, 
like her, must have our own personal faults made known to us by 
the word and grace of Jesus Christ, and be so convinced of our 
sinfulness as truly to repent of and forsake it. We, like her, must 
acknowledge the divine character and Messiahship of the Lord Jesus, 
and rely on him as the only Saviour of the world. We, like her, 
must pray for and receive the Holy Spirit, if we would have within 
us that “well of living water which springeth unto everlasting life.” 
Vain will be aU our zeal for the doctrines and usages of particular 


WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 


131 


sects, — vain our attachment to our favorite places and modes of 
worship, unless we fervently “ worship the Father in spirit and in 
truth.” 

Have we been brought to the knowledge of the true Messiah ? 
have we found him of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets did 
write ? Let us imitate the example of the Samaritan woman. In the 
overflowings of a believing and grateful heart, she proclaimed the 
glory of Jesus, and used her utmost efforts to bring her friends and 
neighbors to the knowledge of him who told her all things that ever 
she did. She was the first witness for the Gospel in that benighted 
city of her nativity, and probably prepared the way for the successfal 
preaching of Philip the Deacon, and for the confirming ministry of 
the Apostles Peter and John. 

So every true Christian is bound to extend the knowledge and 
proclaim the glory of Christ. Are there not among our relatives, 
friends, and neighbors, some who are strangers to true religion ? Let 
us persuade them to attend the services of the sanctuary and listen to 
the preaching of the Gospel, and, in the arms of faith and prayer, 
bring them to Jesus, that they may obtain his blessing. Are there 
no neglected children in the neighborhood of our habitations, growing 
up in ignorance and vice ? Let us invite them to the Sunday school 
and Catechetical class, that they may there sit at the feet of Jesus, 
and as his disciples learn the way of life truly. Are there no desolate 
widows, and needy invalids, who pass their weary days and restless 
nights upon their beds of languishing, unsustained by faith in Jesus, 
uncheered with a hope of rest and joy beyond the gi’ave ? Can we 
not visit them with Bibles, and Prayer Books, and Tracts, which, as 
silent, but successful ministering angels, may allure them to brighter 
worlds, and point the way ? Beyond this limited circle of our 
personal influence, there is a world lying in wickedness, for which 


132 


WOMAN OP SAMARIA. 


Jesus died. We must pray, we must give, we must labor for the con- 
version of mankind, until tbe Master comes again, and shall behold 
that world which he redeemed when suspended upon the cross, bowing 
in willing submission at his feet. 






! . 
V 



New York. D. Appleton &. C? 200, Broadway. 




f 



Z I P P 0 R A H. 


BY JOHN TODD, D. D. 


The shadows of old Horeb began to stretch over the plains of Midian, 
showing that the night was coming down upon the earth again, when 
a weary stranger sat down by a well of water. It was the only well 
in all the region. Down the glens and ravines came the flocks of the 
shepherds and the droves of the herdsmen, twice a day for water. 
The men came crowding and contending, to decide whose flock should 
be first served. They chode, and threatened each other ; called 
abusive names, and the hke ; but the stranger took no notice of their 
wrangling. He had stooped down and slaked his thirst, and sat alone, 
either gloomy or sad. At length there came a flock down to the 
well, attended only by girls. They were young and fair, mild and 
peaceful. But the moment they came near, the rude shepherds de- 
clared that they should wait tOl all the rest had been served, even if 
it were tOl deep darkness had come on. They even became insolent 
and offensive in language to the maidens. It was then that the 
stranger sprang up like a lion from his lair, and declared that the 
flocks of the maidens should be the first served. And when the men 


18 


134 


ZIPPOKAH. 


gathered around him, he threw them off and scattered them by his 
strength. He then courteously saluted the maidens, drew water for 
their charge, and sent them away, blessing him, ere the sun had gone 
down. Often did they turn to look at the noble-hearted and strong- 
handed stranger as he sat do^wm again by the well, apparently lost in 
thought. They hastened home, and met their princely father just 
returning from a duty which had detained him — for he was a prince 
among men and a priest before God. He paused to smile upon his 
loved ones, and to ask them how it came to pass that they were 
through with wateiing their flock so early. 

“ Because, father,” said Zipporah, the eldest and fairest, “ a noble 
stranger met us at the well, drove away the rude shepherds who 
were insolent, and then drew water for us.” 

“ From what country came he ?” 

“ From Egypt, as we judged.” 

“ What made ye think so ?” 

“ Because he spoke the Egyptian language beautifully, and his 
dress was Egyptian. He must have been an Egyptian, and yet there 
was something more noble and lofty in his bearing than in any 
Egyj)tian I ever saw.” 

“ No, he could not have been an Egyptian !” 

“ Why not, father ?” 

“ Because an Egyptian abominates cattle and flocks, and would 
never draw water for them, or be seated near them — no, not even if 
maidens were there to admire him. But, Egyptian or no Egj^tian, 
why have ye not brought him to our humble home, to share our 
hospitality ?” 

“ Was it seemly, father, for maidens to be so bold with a 
stranger ?” 

“ Was it seemly, girl, to leave a stranger alone, hungry, perhaps 


ZIPPORAH. 


135 


sick, to spend tke niglit in the open air, when we have a good shelter? 
Is that the kindness of maidens who are instructed to show mercy, 
and to live not for themselves ? Go call him, and bid him welcome 
to our home.” 

Away went the maiden; but in what manner she approached 
him, or how she did the errand, we know not, but the evening found 
him with the family, engaged in lively conversation. Great was their 
amazement to learn that he belonged to the Hebrew race — of whom 
the daughters had heard but little, though they knew them to belong 
to an oppressed class, and they knew that by their father, they had 
been mentioned at the family altar with very special interest. But 
the stranger had no marks of slavery about him. On the contrary, 
his bearing was noble, not without self-respect, and like that of a man 
who had been accustomed to command, rather than to obey. They 
did not understand all the long conversation between their father and 
the guest, for they spake much in the Hebrew tongue ; but they 
understood enough to know that his life had been an unusual one, — 
that some great purpose of his heart had been thwarted, — that a 
mystery seemed connected with his history which had not yet been 
cleared up ; and that he must for the future bear exile from his home 
and country, and in solitude mourn over some calamities which he 
could not remove. 

“ He must have been disappointed in love,” said Zipporah to her 
sister EUah ; “ poor fellow ! Is he not to be pitied ?” 

“Not he ! — no, he was never in love, or at least, this is not the 
recent calamity and disappointment,” said EUah. 

“ How knowest thou that, mine sister ?” 

“ By two special marks ; first, he talks and mourns much about 
his mother, and, secondly, he looks on thee too admiringly to be 
breaking his heart for any other woman. I suspect thee of being 


136 


ZIPPORAH. 


warm in tliy words when thou wentest to call him at the well. More 
than once I have caught his eyes fastened on thee.” 

“ Nonsense, EUah. It is a fiction of thine own imagination. In 
fact when I spoke to him, I fairly trembled with awkwardness.” 

“ It may be he watches thee to see if this trembling is habitual.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

Long was the conversation between the father and the stranger. 
In the morning, the maidens were surprised to learn that they were 
no more to tend the flocks of their father. They were to be com- 
mitted to the hands of the stranger. Awkwardly but resolutely did 
he enter upon his duties, and in a short time was master of his 
profession. In the progress of time the early surmises of the young 
EUah were found to be correct, and the stranger became her brother 
by espousing the elder sister Zipporah ; and they were proud to 
number Moses the Hebrew, as a member of their family. 

Time moved on, and with a wing so downy that the gentle 
Zipporah hardly noticed his steps. She saw in her husband a hum- 
ble man, faithful to his lowly duties, with a kind of sadness which 
was inexplicable, with now and then a flashing of hope, and a 
looming up of character, which showed that the Hebrew was a very 
uncommon man. 

Nearly forty years after this marriage, and the Hebrew shepherd 
came home one evening with a brow so thoughtful and a countenance 
so anxious, that his wife was alarmed and in great distress. His con- 
versation was now on schemes so incomprehensible, and so utterly 
beyond the power of a poor mountain-shepherd, that the family 
began to come to the fearful conclusion, that reason had forsaken her 
throne for ever. When Moses found that he could not be understood 
or beUeved, in regard to the • solemn commission which God had 
given him, he merely proposed to revisit his relatives in Egypt, and 


ZIPPORAH. 


137 


once more look upon the faces of those whom he had loved. With 
his wife and two sons he set out for Egypt. No one seeing his family 
on the ass, and he walking by their side with his shepherd’s staff in 
his hand, would have taken him to be the deliverer and the guide of 
a nation — the man of many generations. On their way, the angel of 
God met them, and solemnly warned Moses that through regard to his 
wife’s prejudices, he had committed a great sin in not having circum- 
cised his youngest son. The sword was in the angel’s hand, and the 
life of Moses was at stake. It was then that the INIidianite mother 
gave way — circumcised her child, and wondered over the mystery of 
blood. Her husband’s life was spared, but she murmured that it must 
be at the price of blood. Seeing that she would be a hindrance to 
himself, and perhaps a cause of unbelief in others, Moses gladly 
assented that for a season she should return back, with her children, 
to her father’s house, and leave him to follow his high calling. She 
could not at that time sympathize with that love for his people whose 
flame forty years’ absence had done nothing to quench ; and she could 
not believe that if God had a work so mighty to accomplish he would 
select an instrument so lowly as her husband. We wonder that she 
could not see that, though the dust of Abraham slept in the cave of 
Machpelah, the God of Abraham stiU lived ; that though Isaac, and 
Jacob, and Joseph, had done the work which they had been commis- 
sioned to do, yet the great plans of God were not yet accomplished. 
We wonder that she could not see that eighty years ago her husband 
had been snatched from death on the Nile, by a providence so mani- 
fest, that he might be destined in the divine plans to perform a great 
work. We wonder that she did not see that a man, who, in his 
retirement, could write the book of Job, — who held communion with 
God so constantly, and who had seen the Angel of the everlasting 
covenant in the burning bush — might even be the leader in the hands 


138 


ZIPPOKAH. 




of tlie Almiglity One to deliver Israel from the bondage of Egypt. 
But what is so clear to us was dark to her ; and she turned back to 
the mountains of Midian, and thus cut herself off from the privilege 
of sustaining and comforting her husband in his great trials, and of 
seeing the mighty acts of God in delivering his people and punishing 
his enemies, and her sons from receiving those sublime impressions, 
which in no age and in no circumstances would again be made on 
men. Thus unbelief turns us back and palsies our hand from duties, 
shuts us off from witnessing the mighty power of God, and takes 
away from others, golden opportunities of receiving good. Sad, 
indeed, is it for any one thus to stumble through unbelief ; but 
doubly sad is it when the mother thus sets an example to her house- 
hold. 

Two old men, the one eighty and the other eighty-three, with a 
simple staff in the hand, were slowly descending a mountain and in 
solemn conversation. How feeble such instrumentality to move a 
proud king and his court, with a powerful army and at the head of a 
great nation, to permit one-tenth of his subjects to go oft" into the 
wilderness, following these two men ! But Jethro, the prince and the 
priest of IVIidian, who had bid his son-in-law to go in peace, and we 
may hope his wife too, were following him with their prayers. And 
the hoary-headed elders of Israel believed Moses and Aaron, and in 
prayer cried unto God. 

To follow Moses in the great work to which he was commissioned, 
and to watch the mysterious union of human and divine agency, of 
weakness and strength, of darkness and light, of folly and wisdom, 
would be a most grateful task. But this would be foreign from our 
plan. In the solitudes of the mountains, Zipporah spent several 
following years. News travelled very slow in those days. It was not 
till rumor had carried the fame of Moses through all the surrounding 




ZIPPOEAH. 


139 


regions, that she heard of his achievements, and learned to her amaze- 
ment that her husband, the once humble shepherd of the hills, had 
become a prince and a leader, whose name would for ever stand fore- 
most on the roll of greatness. It seemed like a dream to her, that 
millions of minds were actually acknowledging him as their deliverer, 
were receiving their laws and religion from him, and that he was in 
fact to be the founder of a nation, and the father of a mighty people. 
It was then that her songs broke out, and her faith, which had 
staggered so much, received strength. She was humbled that she had 
no more appreciated his character, encouraged him in his work, and 
shared his trials, rather than to quarrel vdth the ordinances of God, to 
fold her arms at home, and to live merely for herself. Then she told 
the story to her sons — not to make them proud of a father whose 
name they were to inherit, but to lead them to see what a work the 
God of their fathers was accomplishing through him. Old Jethro 
rejoices and praises God for the tidings which are brought to him. 
Again the family leave their home and travel towards the deserts. 

On a bright morning, the sons of Moses pointed out to their 
grandfather in the distance, a bright little cloud, that hung stationary 
between heaven and earth. Then Jethro dismounted, and kneeled 
down and praised the Lord ; — for he knew that he was now looking 
on the cloud which hung over the tabernacle, and in which God 
dwelt. In a short time they saw the bright tents, and heard the hum 
of the mighty travellmg city of tents, and knew they were near. 
The tent of Moses was in front — the place where they were throng- 
ing from moining to evening for justice and for instruction. As they 
drew near, the heart of Zipporah fluttered and beat wildly. Would 
her husband receive, and acknowledge, and love her again? How 
changed was his lofty brow, by the cares and anxieties of his station ! 
What a lofty character he now was ! She was almost afraid to meet 


140 


ZIPPORAH. 


his eye ! But the moment he saw them, he forgets all the past, folds 
his wife and sons to his hosom, and with tears welcomes the good old 
Jethro to his tent. What a meeting was that ! Long were the hom-s 
which the family spent that night, in recounting and in listening to 
the story of God’s wonderful dealings towards Israel. K the wife 
found her husband now to be a great and a lofty character, he no less 
found that she was greatly chastened in piety, strengthened in faith 
and meekness, and was now better fitted to be his companion and 
fi'iend than ever before. The separation had greatly improved her 
character. The great and the meek Moses too, was willing to receive 
hints and suggestions from his father-in-law, which were of great 
importance and benefit to him. Sweet was their communion together, 
in which both had clearer and deeper views into the plans and 
promises of Israel’s God. The simplicity of character and deep piety 
,of the priest of the mountains made a great impression on the hosts 
under Moses, and from the day of their arrival the whole family lived 
to do good. 

Many years did Zipporah live in the tent of her husband, sharing 
his sorrows, alleviating his trials and labors, and living to be the light 
of his home. "Without ambition or regret she saw her sons — not 
rulers or leaders — but taking a low place among the Levites, the 
servants of the tabernacle, to have no inheritance or name among the 
great ones of Israel. Her prayer was, that in all humility, they might 
serve their God and deliverer. 

In the midst of the wilderness, in the burning desert, aU Israel one 
morning saw the little white flag on the tent of Moses gone, and a 
small ribbon of black in its place. Then they crowded towards the 
tent, for they knew that the angel of death had been there, and that 
the heart of their leader was smitten. Silently the hosts passed 
around the tent, and blessed the memory of her who was gone. Many 


ZIPPORAH. 


141 


rose up and called her blessed. They dug her grave among the burn- 
ing sands of the desert, and laid her there alone, without a stone or 
ornament to mark the spot where she sleeps till the morning of the 
resurrection. Deep and sincere was the mourning of the great leader 
of Israel ; and though he spent the night following the burial, in his 
tent alone, recalling the past and living over the -past, even to the 
moment when he &st saw the maidens at the well in Midian ; yet 
when the morning sun rose and the cloud was taken up off the taber- 
nacle, signifying that the host were to remove, the mourner was ready, 
and with a countenance and a voice calm and peaceful, he resumed his 
station, and all Israel felt that though the strong man was bowed he 
was not crushed. Zipporah sleeps in the desert, — but in the morning 
of the resurrection will she not come up and unite with those who 
sing “ the song of Moses and the Lamb ? ” 



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THE CAIAAIITISH ¥OMAN. 


BY KEV. THOMAS SMYTH, D. D. 


“ Then Jesus arose, and went thence, and departed into the coasts of 
Tyre and Sidon. And entered into an house, and would have no man 
know it : but he could not be hid. For behold a woman of Canaan, 
whose young daughter had an unclean spirit, heard of him, and came 
out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying. Have mercy on 
me, O Lord, thou Son of David ; my daughter is grievously vexed 
with a devil. But he answered her not a word. And his disciples 
came and besought him, saying. Send her away ; for she crieth after 
us. But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep 
of the house of Israel. Then came she and fell at his feet, and 
worshipped him, saying. Lord, help me.” 

“ The woman was a Greek, a Syro-Phcenician by nation ; and she 
besought him that he would cast forth the devil out of her daughter. 
But he answered and said unto her. Let the childi’en first be filled, 
for it is not meet to take the children’s bread and cast it unto dogs. 
And she said. Truth, Lord : yet the dogs eat the crumbs which fall 
from their master’s table ; the dogs under the table eat of the chil- 
dren’s crumbs. Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, 
great is thy faith : and he said unto her. For this saying, be it unto 


144 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


tliee even as thou wilt ; go thy way ; the devil is gone out of thy 
daughter. And her daughter was made whole fi*om that very hour. 
And when she was come to her house, she found the devil gone out, 
and her daughter laid upon the bed.” * 

/ 

Behold her at his feet ! with clasped hands 
And uprais’d eye : her parted lips are moved 
With words of earnest pleading ; and her soul 
Is agonized with all a mother’s woe. 

But he has turn’d away ; nor word, nor look 
Of pity, or of comfort has vouchsafed. 

E’en his disciples, wondering, have join’d 
Their prayers with hers ; and yet he is unmov’d, 

Nor merely silent. From his lips break forth 
Harsh and unlook’d-for words, “ The children’s bread 
Must not be given to dogs.” Oh ! who can tell 
The bitter grief in that poor suppliant’s heart ? 

She had come far to seek him, for she felt 
Her hope was all in him. No less a power 
Could wrest a child from the fell demon’s rage ; 

Yet once, with energy of deep despair. 

She humbly cries, “ Truth, Lord : yet e’en the dogs 
The children’s crumbs partake!” — Behold, the beam 
Of godlike pity glances from his eye I 
Her faith has conquer’d ; and from out the gloom 
Of that dark night of woe, see dawn arise. 

The shining of the Sun of Kighteousness, 

Rising for her with healing in his wings I 

We have bere a beautiful picture, embodying one of the most 
touching and picturesque scenes which “the romance of real life” 

* Matt. XV. 21 — 29. Mark vii. 24 — 31. 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


145 


could possibly supply. This picture is framed in a style of presenta- 
tion inimitable for chaste and elegant simplicity, and the natural 
adornment of pure and unaffected emotion. And as we obtain a 
much more striking view of a fine picture by looking at its reflection, 
in a glass properly adjusted, we have such a glass provided in the 
case before us, — one by which the whole narrative, properly reflected, 
may impart its spirit of heavenly beauty to our own souls. 

In this narrative, then, we “ see as in a glass” “ the shadow of good 
things to come.” The Saviour here teaches us by an example — a 
living parable, — so that the encouragement and instruction imparted, 
are equally applicable to all ages and to all persons. We have here, 
in short, a lively representation of the nature of salvation and the 
way in which it is to be attained. This woman was a straxgee, 
driven by the winds of stormy adversity to seek shelter and deliver- 
ance in the fold of the good Shepherd. A type and emblem of this 
sinful and miserable world, — of the bitterness of sin, which like an 
evil spirit, vexes and destroys the souls of men, — and of the greatness 
and glory of that salvation which is revealed to us in the Gospel. 
When we remember, says Chrysostom, who she was, and what was 
her errand, we cannot but consider the efficacy of Christ’s coming and 
the power of his most glorious dispensation, which reached from one 
end of the world unto the other, embraced those who had not only 
forgotten God, but had also overthrown the laws of nature, and 
obscured that light which had been kindled in their hearts ; — which 
called sinners, yea, even gross idolaters, to repentance ; — and admitted 
even “ dogs” to “ participate in the children’s bread.” 

Lookinor at the circumstances of the narrative we see in the 

O 

event, — which was evidently foreseen and intended, — a pregnant 
illustration of that Providence which “ directs our steps,” and “ shapes 
our ends, rough hew them as we may.” 


146 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


In consequence of the murder of John the Baptist by Herod, our 
Saviour had “de2:)arted by ship into a desert place apart.” Being 
followed by the multitude, who now thronged upon him in vast 
numbers, he sj)ent the day in healing and miraculously feeding them ; 
and then dismissed both them and his disciples, and “ went up into a 
mountain to pray.” Being still, however, persecuted by the Scribes 
and Pharisees, our Saviour departed privately from the country of 
Gennesaret, and sought temporary seclusion in the borders of Tyre 
and Sidon. Here, though still in Judea, he was on the very confines 
of Phoenicia or the ancient Canaan, where he might hojDe to be 
perfectly retired. He entered therefore into an house, and would have 
no man know it. But as we are told that “ the fame of him went 
throughout all Syria,” he was soon discovered by the inhabitants — 
the remains of those ancient Canaanites whom God had commanded 
Joshua to extii’pate on account of their aggravated wickedness. Tyre 
and Sidon had however remained unconquered, and had retained 
their idolatry till the time of Christ, when the superstition of the 
common peoj^le had become associated with an Epicurean atheism 
among the more enlightened and refined. 

Such was the theatre on which was to be performed one of the 
most wonderful and instructive miracles of our Saviour. It was not 
long after his arrival before he was assailed with importunate demands 
upon that mercy which had never yet failed the petitioner, and from 
whose inexhaustible storehouse none had ever been sent empty 
away. 

The suppliant who now cried unto our Saviour, — saying “ Have 
mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David,” — was a woman. A 
woman ! and in that name how much is there of sacred, deep, and 
tender thought. 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


147 


The very first 

Of human life, must spring from woman’s breast ; 
Our first small words are taught us from her lips ; 
Our first tears quenehed by her, and our last sighs 
Full often breathed out in a woman’s hearing. 

When men have shrunk from the ignoble care 
Of watching the last hour of wasting misery. 


How mucli of tlie charm, the happiness, and the joys of life are 
given to it by woman, whose lot it is 


To train the foliage o’er the snowy lawn ; 

To guide the pencil, turn the tnneful page ; 

To lend new fiavor to the fruitful year. 

And heighten nature’s dainties ; in their race 
To rear the graces into second life ; 

To give society its highest taste. 

Well ordered home, man’s best delight to make, 
And by submissive wisdom, modest skill. 

With every gentle care eluding art 
To raise the virtues, animate the bliss. 

And sweeten all the toils of human life : 

This is the female dignity and praise. 


How much, then, does woman need the elevating, the refining, and 
the equalizing influences of that “glorious Gospel” which teaches 
man — “who, while to man he is so oft unjust, is always so to 
woman,” — that in Christ Jesus there is neither male nor female ; and 
that while the two sexes are difierent in capacity and ofllce, they are 
all one in nature, dignity, danger, and destiny. And how much, too, 
does the Gospel require and rejoice in the services with which woman 




148 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


lias ever repaid its countless benefits conferred on ber. Last at tbe 
cross and first at tlie sepulchre ; woman has always been found the 
fii'st to acknowledge, the foremost to defend, the readiest to minister 
to, and the last to abandon or betray, Christ and his cause. 

This suppliant was a woman of Canaan ; a Greek, as the Jews 
denominated all but themselves ; a Syro-Phoenician, being by birth a 
Syrian. Her country, which was situated on the frontiers of the Holy 
Land, about three days’ journey from Jerusalem, was entered by 
Canaan the grandson of ISToah, in express contrariety to the allotment 
of God, when he “ divided among the nations their inheritance,” and 
when Palestine was reserved as “ the Lord’s portion.” His eldest son 
gave his name Sidon to one of the chief cities of the country. In 
fulfilment of Noah’s prophecy, therefore, the Canaanites had become 
“ servants of servants to their brethren and having been extirpated 
or enslaved by his chosen people, under God’s express command, 
their remaining posterity were always regarded by the Jews with 
feelings of peculiar aversion and contempt. 

But in addition to this ignominious character of the suppliant, she 
was A HEATHEN — an idolater — and, as such, the object of divine 
malediction and national abhorrence to every Israelite, by whom all 
idolaters were regarded as unclean — as “dogs” and swine. This 
woman, therefore, was a Gentile, — a Greek, — one of the goim to 
whom the light and knowledge of revealed truth had never been 
imparted. These goim or Gentiles were, however, eventually to be 
made partakers of “ the glorious .Gospel of the blessed God.” So 
prophets and “ holy men of God, who spake as they were moved by 
the Holy Ghost,” had long and often foretold. But the appointed 
time had not yet come when Christ was to become “ a light to 
lighten the Gentiles,” and thus “ to perform the mercy promised unto 
the fathers.” He was first to be “ the glory of God’s people Israel,” 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


149 


and to make to them the offers of eternal life, before he “ called a 
people who were not a people.” Our Saviour, therefore, that he 
might “fulfil all righteousness,” and do God’s will in all things, 
commanded his apostles to confine their ministrations during his life, 
and for a season afterwards, to Judea. For these reasons, therefore, 
he discouraged the application of this woman who had come from a 
heathen country, because she was a dog^ and not yet admitted to the 
privileges of a child. 

And such were we.' Such was our original country, and om* 
primitive ancestry — “ far off,” — “ aliens from the commonwealth 
of Israel,” — “ without God and without hope in the world.” 
“ But we are washed, we are sanctified,” we are adopted into 
the heavenly family, and made “fellow citizens of the saints,” 
“sons and daughters of the Lord,” and “joint heirs” to an inherit- 
ance divine. 

This suppliant woman was in distress. Calamity had driven her 
from her home and country, and had made the cities of Phcenicia and 
the coasts of Tyre and Sidon a desert to her troubled spirit. And 
thus it is that many a weary sinner is led to flee from the haunts of 
worldly gayety, frivolity and sin, by the winds of calamity and the 
floods of trouble. 


For He who knew what human hearts would prove, 
How slow to learn the dictates of his love, 

That hard by nature and of stubborn will, 

A life of ease would make them harder still ; 

In pity to the souls his grace designed 
To rescue from the ruins of mankind. 

Call’d for a cloud to darken all their years. 

And said — Go spend them in the vale of tears. 


20 


150 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


But our interest in tliis suppliant is increased by learning that she 

was A JIOTHEE. 


A mother ! sweetest name on earth ; 

We lisp it on the knee, 

And idolize its sacred worth 
In manhood’s infancy. 


No earthly name can so sweetly soothe the breast or start the tear — 
as mother. It brings with it the reverence, the sanctity and the love 
of Heaven, and whatever is purest and most hallowed in the joys of 
earth. To honor her while living, — to revere her memory when 
dead, — to cheer her in despondency, — to succor her in adversity, — 
and, when left alone, to be to her a home, a husband, and her all in 
all of earthly good; — this is the willing tribute of every grateful 
mind. And oh ! when we recall the tender scenes of infancy, — call 
back to sight a mother’s bosom, — hear her lullaby, — survey her 
toilsome, anxious cares, — and think upon that love which was happy 
in our happiness, and miserable in our grief, — we feel that all the 
recompense we can possibly make her is but as nothing. 


A mother’s love ! the fadeless light 
That glimmers o’er our early way, 
A star amid the clouds of night, 

An ever-burning, quenchless ray. 


But in this supphant behold not only a mother, but a mother 
probably bereaved of her only earthly stay, and now afflicted in the 
hopeless misery of that daughter who was perhaps her only child, and 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


151 


who was now “ grievously tormented by a devil ” She was, therefore, 
the widowed mother of a demoniac daughter. The hour of Satan 
had then come, and “ the powers of darkness ” were then permitted 
to manifest their helhsh rage, in order that their destruction might be 
the more illustriously displayed. 


Poor Canaanitish mother ! 

Mark how she strays with folded arms, 
And her head is bent in woe ; 

She shuts her thoughts to joy or charms, 
No tear attempts to flow. 


All hope has fled. Vain pity heeds her not. Earth affords no 
refuge. The heavens gather only the blackness of darkness. 
Whither, ah ! whither can she flee ? There was but one refuge which 
could supply a covert from the storm, and but one physician who 
could apply a balm to her wounded spirit. Blessed be God ! she has 
found that refuge and secured access to that good Physician. When 
she fled from that desolate home, and escaped fr’om the unnatural fury 
of that demoniac daughter, an invisible hand directed her steps, and 
led her to him who was able to save even in this uttermost extremity. 
Despair not then, oh thou widowed and worse than childless mother ! 
But pour out all thy soul before his throne in prayer. 


Before his throne, who never yet did frown 
One humble suppliant from his mercy-seat ; 

Who, if with guilt thy soul is bowed down, 

In the right path will lead thine erring feet ; 
lie who refused not Mary’s mournful plea. 

Will shed bright rays of joy and set thy spirit free. 


152 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


Mystery and miracle of grace ! Slie — the wanderer, the Canaan- 
ite, the idolater, the outcast, homeless, friendless mother — believes. 
See her as she presses eagerly towards the sacred person of the 
Saviour. Behold her as she now forces her way to his presence, and 
falling down worships him, saying, “ O Lord, thou Son of David, have 
mercy upon me, for my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.” 
How short, how simple, but oh ! how unutterably earnest and impor- 
tunate that prayer ! She had heard of the promised Kedeemer, who 
should “ bruise Satan under his feet ; destroy the works of the devil, 
and unloosing their fetters, bid his captives go free.” Amid her 
desolate voyage over life’s stormy sea, this hope of deliverance had 
been as an anchor to her soul. God had shined upon her to give her 
the light of the knowledge of his mercy as it is exhibited in the face 
of Jesus Christ. To him, therefore, she comes. She goes neither to 
the physicians nor to the magians of Phoenicia, but casts herself with 
all her cares upon him who is able to save both soul and body. 

Oh that every weary heart, to whom God has sent tlie attracting 
and convincing influences of his Spiiit, would “ work out theii* own 
salvation with fear and trembling, seeing that it is God who worketh 
in them both to will and to do.” 


If there’s a prayer, like spring’s first flower, 
More sweet than all the rest, 

’Tis ofifered in that hallowed hour 
When first the heart’s impressed. 

The angels listen to that prayer. 

Then hear it up to heaven ; 

And who can tell the joy that’s there, 

AVhen such a one’s forgiven ? 


AVliat means this woman had enjoyed of coming to tlie knowledge 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


153 


of Christ as Lord and yet man, as the promised Kedeemer, and as 
one mighty to save, we are left to conjecture. They must have been 
at best very limited and partial. Unlike to us who live in the sun- 
shine of religious privileges, she must have groped her way out of 
darkness into the marvellous light of the Gospel. “ O woman, great 
is thy faith !” — which, springing from a grain of mustard seed cast 
into a dry and barren soil, became a tree of such gigantic gi’owth and 
vigor. “ O Lord, increase our faith,” and let not this heathen rise up 
in the judgment and condemn us. To her there was no personal 
promise, and no assm*ance of personal acceptance. But believing that 
if Christ willed he could grant her request, she threw herself upon 
him, — when repulsed, returned again, — and thus wrestling against 
apparent severity and rejection, her language, like one of old was, “ I 
will not let thee go until thou bless me.” Oh for such faith as hers ! 
— such faith as cleansed the leper, — healed the lame, — unsealed the 
deaf, — unchained the palsied tongue, — illumined the blind, — cheered 
the sorrowful, — imparted peace, meekness, charity, and love, — and 
raised even the dead to life. Could we enjoy such faith — and why 
should we not? — looking to God’s exceeding great and precious 
promises, and to them alone, we might smile upon impossibilities, and 
say “ it shall be done.” 


She does not doubting ask, can this be so ? 
The Lord has said it, and she needs no more. 


Mark* the natural and becoming modesty of this woman’s faith. 
She stood at a respectful distance. There was no vociferation, no loud 
and bitter lamentations, no murmuring complaints. Having uttered 
her requests, she awaits in silence the hoped for answer. Oh ! how 
prevalent is such a gentle and assured disposition with him in whose 


154 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


sight a meek and quiet spirit is of great price ! While, therefore, 
Christ answered not a word to her prayer, he “ made answer to her 
silence, and he who regarded not her noise, made a reply to her 
reverence and adoration.” 

Her might is gentleness — she winneth way 
, By a soft word, and by a softer look. 


Mark the patience of this woman’s faith. As the evening star 
brightens while the darkness envelopes the earth, so did her faith 
seem fairest and most illustrious amid increasing and apparently 
insurmountable difficulties. She seems to say, “though he slay all 
my hopes, yet will I trust in him.” She lay therefore at his feet in 
prostrate penitence and tears, and “ worshipping him, said. Lord, 
help me.” 


Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted ! 

The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn. 

In wondering and in scorn ! 

Thou weepest days of happiness departed ; 

Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move 
The Lord to pity and love. 


What humility, what ingenuity, and what perseverance does the 
faith of this suppliant exhibit! A woman, a mother, a widow, 
afflicted in an only child, and yet no sympathy in Jesus, not even a 
reply ; and when he did speak, a repulse, a denial, and opprobrious 
recrimination! And can she endure all this? Was ever faith like 
hers ? No. Never was there such faith even in Israel ; and if Abra- 
ham is “ the father,” she may be styled the mother “ of the faithful.” 
She faints not. She despairs not. She is dumb and opens not her 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. 


155 


moutli. Every accusation slie ratifies. Every charge of unAvorthiiiess 
she aggravates as true in all its force. When a stone is given her 
instead of bread, and she is made a dog rather than a child, she 
thankfully receives even this admission, and supplicates divine com- 
passion upon herself as chief of sinners and not worthy to be called 
a child. While admitting, therefore, that she was unworthy of the 
children’s meat, she asks to be permitted to eat of the crumbs which 
fall from the Master’s table. Thus like Manasses and David, did she 
acknowledge her vileness, saying, “ Against thee, thee only have I 
sinned, and done evil in thy sight, that thou mightest be justified when 
thou speakest and clear when thou judgest.” She admits the truth in 
all its self-condemnation, and “ is not able so much as to lift up her 
eyes to heaven, but smites upon her breast.” She draws encourage- 
ment from seeming repulse, and says, “ For thine own mercies’ sake, 
pardon mine iniquities, for they are great.” She prizes the least com- 
munication of mercy as a priceless blessing, and reposes her hope upon 
the affluence and all-sufficiency of the Saviour’s love. “ Blessed are 
the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” 

So it was with this poor suppliant. In her Christ has given an 
illustrious example of faith, of patience, of humility, of modesty, of 
prudence, and of perseverance ; which shall be mentioned to her 
praise, and to the encouragement of all who shall hereafter come unto 
the Saviour, wherever in all the world this Gospel of the grace of God 
shall be preached. She had been tried so as by fire, that like gold 
she might be seven times purified. Christ, for a small moment, had 
forsaken her as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and in a little 
wrath had hid his face from her for a moment. But with greater 
mercies did he gather her, and with “ everlasting kindness will I have 
mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Bedeemer.” The darkness thei'e- 
fore passed away. The star of hope arose upon her darkened breast. 


156 


THE CANAANITISH WOMAN. - 


She “ heard the voice of joy and gladness, that the bones God had 
broken might rejoice.” She who had .victoriously endured the trial, 
and had clung to the anchor of Christ’s word amid every discourage- 
ment, now saw his countenance lifted upon her in j)eace, and heard 
those blessed words, “ O woman, great is thy faith ; be it unto thee 
even as thou wilt.” 


Joy, joy to the mother ! her Saviour hath spoken, 

The word hath been uttered in accents divine, 

Arise, lo ! the power of the tempter is broken, 

And, disconsolate mother, thy daughter is thine. 

Thus, Lord, when distressed, we poor sinners resemble 
In hopeless dejection this object of love, 

Give peace to those hearts that as anxiously tremble ; 

Oh ! revive their lost souls by thy word from above. 

“ And her daughter was made whole from that very hour,” — 
whole, we would believe, spiritually as well as physically. And is it 
not delightful to hope that this redeemed captive, having been led by 
her mother to the knowledge of the Saviour, was able, like many 
a child of maternal faith and prayer, with devout thankfulness to 
say 


And if I e’er in heaven appear — 
A mother’s holy prayer, 

A mother’s hand, and gentle tear 
That pointed to the Saviour dear. 
Have led the wanderer there. 



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Kpw-York.D. Appleton iSc 20U, 




THE WITCH OF ENDOH. 


BY SAMUEL HANSON COX, D. D. 

What a degradation ! The king of Israel, Sanl, the vicegerent of 
God, the great visible head of the Jewish autocracy, the first whom 
Samuel anointed with fresh oil, he — become the pupil and the suitor 
of a witch ! It is so. Perplexed and in despaii*, there seems scarce 
“ method in his madness.” He is in the rapids, about to shoot the 
gulf — the catastrophe is certain, the cataract merges him, he vanishes 
soon and for ever. 

Awful case ! A night dark with horror settles oVer him. He 
was a reprobate indeed. He had sinned away all hope of mercy. 
His sin was habituated, presumptuous, incorrigible. lie was aban- 
doned of his God — all intercourse, aU favor, all responses denied. 
He is a doomed man. From what height — to what depth ! What 
he might have been ! What he is ! 

He had indeed enough to make him wretched. He felt himself 
human, rather than royal. His enemies, the Philistines, had invaded 
his territories. They had marched, a mighty host, unquestioned 
through the centre of his land, “ and came and pitched in Shunem. 
And Saul gathered all Israel together, and they pitched in Gilboa. 

21 


158 


THE WITCH OF ENHOR. 


And when Saul saw the host of the Philistines, he was afraid, and his 
heart greatly trembled.” 

It was in this extremity, that he resorts to the witch. In what 
her powers or her pretensions consisted, he is not now the man to 
inquire. As the supreme magistrate of the land, he was under high 
obligation to punish witches, and exterminate them aU. In this work 
he had made some demonstration and some progress. He knows of 
no other resource. Endor lay north of the enemy, and he south of 
all. He aims, however, to keep an incognito. His path is perilous. 
He goes disguised, at night, with two picked and trusty companions ; 
and the witch warily receives them. He puts her on a strange 
service — “ Bring me up Samuel.” She hesitates. 

He allays her fears, swearing by Jehovah that “there shall no 
punishment happen to thee for this thing.” He engages more than 
he can perform. It is all wickedness ! He swears he will not do his 
duty ; and that her sin, to which himself is the powerful tempter, 
shall incur no punishment. But, after all, what does he mean ? Is 
Samuel in the keeping of a witch ? Will he come at her bidding ? 
Does he honor her incantations, or correspond with her sorcery ? 
Has a graceless hag the skill or the power to summon to her presence, 
the spirit of a glorified saint ? Would she like to see him probably ? 
He had been in heaven for three years and more. What mean they 
all ? Is it all the play of grown children ? Are they really in 
earnest ? Can Saul confide in her, or she in Saul ? Is she honest in 
the attempt to raise Samuel ? Does Saul really expect to see him, 
having faith in the potentiality of the witch ? And if he succeeds, 
and sees and hears Samuel, what good will it do him ? Is Samuel on 
Saul’s side ; or, suppose it, can he benefit whom God hath deserted ? 
Poor Saul ! What a fool — the pains-taking votary of a witch. 

We shall perplex no reader with a discussion, or even an array, of 


THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 


159 


learned tlieories. We boast of no great learning; and shall apply 
the principles of grammar, and faith, and common sense, only, in the 
solution of the scene at Endor, with its mysteries. Its interpretation 
seems easy and true, satisfactory and certain, as well as instructive. 

Our lii-st question is — Was Samuel actually there? Was it 
indeed Samuel that appeared and spoke ? 

Our answer is prompt in the affirmative. The fact is plainly ' 
asserted in the inspired history — Samuel was there in reality, as well 
as apparition, voice, and character. 

It is not our way — though we have read something of German 
literature and theology, are acquainted "with Germans, and have 
actually been in Germany, as well as Holland, France, and Switzer- 
land — it is still not our way, so learned, as to deny or theorize away 
the plain facts of revelation. Had we such an erudition and such a 
propension, we might prefer, in our philosophy, to begin with the 
facts of nature ; and making our own ignorance there the criterion of 
all impossibility, exalt our own knowledge as the standard and the 
measure of all reality. As it is, we go for facts in the Bible and in 
nature, as the premises of aU our ratiocination and our theory. And 
if our reputation for originality and profundity — ^below the bathos 
of all light and evidence — is to suffer as the consequence, we hope 
to be preserved from a desperate resort to learned infidels, or to 
philosophic wizards, or to scholastic idolatry of any sort, for supple- 
mentary oracles of wisdom. 

The witch, understanding the wish of her customei*, went below 
into thfe cellar of her house, to prepare her machinery for its grati- 
fication. With her it was plainly all artifice and illusion. Her 
responses were to be given by ventriloquism, or possibly from the 
voice of some of her suffragans, habited and metamorphosed for the 
occasion — and with little help extraordinary from her infernal 


160 


THE WITCH OF ENDOK. 


patron, “tie spirit that now worketh in the children of disohe- 
dience.” 

It is plain from the whole scene, and indeed it seems to us the 
only true or rational impression, that, just here, God interposed. 
In his awful judicial sovereignty, his providence had anticipated the 
matter ; and though he had denied Saul an answer in the ordinary 
ways of his worshippers, he chose to send him, as an enemy, at once 
his sentence and his summons, on this occasion of his own derelict 
invention and procurement. The word of God declares that it was 
Samuel. His message shows only the holy steadfastness and con- 
sistency of the throne. He is wholly and calmly on the part of God. 
“Satan is not divided against himself;” and this prodigy was surely 
none of his. Samuel uttem oracles — just as they came to pass. 
Satan is no seer of the future, no prophet of the truth ; and in his 
politics against God, he is remarkably short-sighted as well as false. 

The witch, too, was obviously disconcerted and scared. Some 
mightier power invisible, was ordering against her the phenomena of 
the scene. Her practised methods and machinations were in disarray ; 
not at her bidding, not at her vish, not as before in her experience, 
“an old man came up, and he was covered with a mantle.” She 
screamed at the sight, retreated from her jugglery, and accused Saul ; 
as knowing that none but the king of Israel could be the personage 
for whom earth opened and disclosed the prophet messenger. Her 
words import not only terror and astonishment, but also a conviction 
of a prodigy from God. “ I saw Gods,” said she, “ ascending out of 
the earth.” The Hebrew word is only that which ordinarily is 
rendered God, and it should have been given here in the singular. 
Her expressions were indeed incoherent in part ; and well they might 
be, as coined in the mint of consternation. The witch was no heathen 
or polytheist, more than the king. She knew well whom Saul meant 


THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 


161 


by Samuel, and she believed generally in Jebovali as tlie only true 
God. Samuel stood before them. “ And Saul perceived that it was 
Samuel ; and he stooped with his face to the ground, and bowed 
himself.” 

The language of Samuel conforms, as the whole of Scripture does, 
very properly, to the ordinary forms and phrases of human thought. 
It is the common way of the Bible. Its style is neither metaphysical, 
nor mathematical, nor suited to the anticipations of the curious or the 
captious. It is like nature. It is the simplicity and the nudity of 
truth. In general, it is very intelligible ; easily interpreted by 
honesty, and speciously perverted by fraud. "VYhy should any man 
allow himself to be so morally blinded by any influence, and act 
under it, as if it were his interest to misunderstand or vitiate the 
oracles of the eternal God ? Can he alter their reality, or change the 
things to which they refer ? Could Saul do it, with the witch and 
the de\Tl to help him ? How ineffable the horrors and the delusions 
of a grace-abandoned state ! 

“ And Samuel said to Saul, Why hast thou disquieted me, to 
bring me up ? And Saul answered, I am sore distressed ; for the 
Philistines make war against me, and God is departed from me, and 
answereth me no more, neither by prophets, nor by dreams : there- 
fore I have called thee, that thou mayest make known to me what I 
shall do. 

“ Then said Samuel, Wherefore then dost thou ask of me, seeing 
the Lord is departed from thee, and is become thine enemy ? ” The 
holy seer proceeds ; recapitulates the sins of Saul, in a few only of 
theii* chief perpetrations ; and predicts the defeat of his armies as a 
visitation of judgment from the Lord, and the death of himself and 
his sons in the gory conflict. His words sunk, like bolts of fire, into 
the soul of Saul. He knew it was a response from God, come at last ! 


162 


THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 


“ Then Saul fell straightway aU along on the earth, and was sore 
afraid, because of the words of Samuel.” Comparatively the witch 
retained her self-possession. The next day verified all those words, 
and even transcended them, in its chapter of bloody disasters. Israel 
was defeated ; Saul and his sons were slain. 

Let us think of some instruction here given us. 

1. The descending scale of sin, and its horrors at the last. Com- 
pare Saul at Endor with the witch, with Saul forty years before at 
Eamah with Samuel ! 'WTiat a change ! He never indeed loved 
God. He was n^ver an “ Israelite indeed,” whose heart was renovate 
and pure. But as a sinner how largely had he deteriorated, “ grown 
worse and worse,” as it is written of “ evil men ! ” How how squalid, 
how infatuated, how far fallen ! What a type of wrath ! The meanest 
man, and probably the greatest sinner — that is, the guiltiest in the 
world ! What a beacon, what a warning, what a moral monster on 
the earth ! Obsta principiis^ say the Latins — that is, resist the begin- 
nings. Spiritually, the beginnings are “ the thoughts and intents of 
the heart,” the latent motives of the mind. It is here that we get 
away from God ; and when loose and going, how far gradually, how 
low imperceptibly, “ by little and little ” may we fall ! 

Our preservation is alone this — genuine piety. Our faith towards 
God, when enlightened, operative, and walking with his prophets, 
keeps us within the eternal inclosure of his covenant, gives us the con- 
solation often of consciousness that we are there, and antedates to us 
the holy joys of heaven. It keeps us from the deceitfulness of sin, 
from the perfidy of our own hearts, and from the devices of “ the 
prince of this world.” 

2. The parable of the rich man and Lazarus teaches us, that, if a 
man obey not “ Moses and the Prophets, neither would he be per- 
suaded though one rose from the dead.” Here we see the truth of it 


THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 


163 


exemplified. Samuel rose from the dead ; Saul heard him and did 
not repent. He made no motion like pipty — like confession, peni- 
tence, or prayer ; neither did the Jews when Lazarus rose and they 
knew it ; nor do they to this day, though Jesus rose, and all evidence, 
increasing continually for more than eighteen centuries, proves it. It 
is the Spirit of God alone, and that by the onset of his effectual grace, 
that savingly pei-suades a sinner. How little do the unconverted 
know God, or themselves, or the truth ! 

3. What shall we say of this instance of female character ? A 
Jewess — and a witch! A daughter of Sarah and a daughter of 
Satan ! A professed worshipper of the true God, and a professional 
rebel against his authority. We say that she is a most degraded 
example of female depravity — and we trace or describe it as much 
the result probably of a neglected education, the power of evil 
example, the pervereion of the intellectual powem, the sway of corrupt 
habit, the facilities of temptation, the wants and exposures of the sex, 
the desire of wealth and fame, iniquity in high places, and the tyr- 
anny of common ignorance. These causes, singly or in combination, 
will account for such a specimen. They commend her much to our 
pity, even if more to our censm'e. Perhaps her parents, especially her 
mother, were of degradation, moral, social, and ancestral- too. She 
might have had never one-tenth of the religious advantages, which 
the fair, who reads this, may, with more criminality, yet with an 
immaculate reputation in the world, have neglected, or abused, or 
resisted, and spurned away from her. Think of this ! Light enhances 
guilt. Their light, in the reign of Saul, more than twenty-nine 
hundred years ago, was very small to ours ; the dawn of morning to 
the light of noon. Still, she seems to have been no original fool. 
Her powers of mind were doubtless strong, versatile, and good. 
Sagacity, promptitude, invention, and self-reliance, were credibly her 


164 


THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 


natural attributes ; by use invigorated and improved. This grieves us 
more. It is the patbos of tbe picture. A female, wbo, in another 
age, and in their circumstances, might have figured in society, as a 
Rachel Russell, or a Hannah More, or a Mary Lundie ; and dying 
left a memory that should be its own monument, is hopelessly con- 
signed to her own base passions, in her own low spheres, and with her 
mean pleasm’es and pursuits ! At length she turns witch, practises 
enchantments, defies the laws of God and man, and is printed in 
history indehbly as an object of terror and abhorrence ! Thi’ough 
what other stages and gradations of crime and misery, successive, she 
may have passed, in reaching such “ a depth, profounder still and still 
profounder, in the fathomless abyss of foUy, plunging in pursuit of 
death what privations she suffered or what wrongs endm’ed ; of 
what perfidy she might have been the victim, and to what process of 
hardening she might have been passively and cruelly abandoned ; we 
nothing know. Judging indeed from other documents, we suppose 
or imagine the downward sequence as almost of nature or necessity. 
One hypothetical plea we may make for her — possibly the peculiar 
wants and exposm’es of the sex ! Fragile, sensitive, dependent, more 
than men, a woman, alas ! too often, in aU our modern society too, 
may find herself in penmy, a lone female, a sohtary widow, a dehcate 
unfriended girl. Helpless, forlorn, neglected by those who should 
support and shield her, she is in straits of soul-piercing poverty. Oh ! 
what a temptation — to do, or to be, any thing for a livehhood ! Yes, 
we may well here commiserate the condition of myriads of women — 
the more, because the evil, from some of its attributes and relations, 
seems incorrigible. It must be prevented, since it can scarcely be 
cured ! Prevention is om’ wisdom. It is here the grand resource of 
society. Let parents be aware of it. Let them practically dread it. 
Let us educate our daughters, truly, pm*ely, guardedly, wisely, and 


THE WITCH OF ENDOE. 


165 


devoutly ! Let us educate the sex ; the mothers not more than the 
educators of the world. We want mothers that are mothers indeed ; 
since the proverb is not more memorable for age, than for use and for 
sense, ^<9 is the 7nothei% so is her daughter. Indeed, the faults of a 
worthy mother, are imitated oftener than her virtues. But if she has 
no virtues to be imitated, her daughters will copy her vices or defects 
as a thing of course. 


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DAUGHTEE OE JAIEUS. 


BY WILLIAM B. SPKAGUE, D. D. 


NoTwrriisTANDrisrG the almost endlessly diversified character of human 
experience, insomuch that no two individuals can be found whose 
history is exactly the same, there are yet some things that fall to the 
lot of men every where and at all times with considerable uniformity. 
For instance, no age can be found in the world’s history, and no 
country on the earth’s surface, in which men have lived or do live in 
undecaying health : you cannot find the dwelling in which sickness in 
some form or other, does not enter, as an occasional, if not a frequent, 
visitant. What happens to every family, at some time, happened on 
a certain occasion, to a family in the city of Capernaum, the head of 
which was a man of some ecclesiastical note, Jaii'us by name, “ a ruler 
of the synagogue.” He seems to have been not only an officer of 
some standing in the Jewish church, but a truly religious man ; and 
yet neither his rank, nor his character, kept out of his dwelling the 
barbed arrows of adversity. 

A distressing malady had seized upon one of his children, a fine 
promising girl, and an only daughter, about twelve years old. 
Whether any medical aid had been called previous to the application 


168 


DAUGHTER OP JAIRUS. 


to Jesus, we are not informed ; we only know tkat lier case seemed to 
be rapidly approximating a fatal crisis wben the Saviour was applied 
to. The parents had evidently become satisfied that their child was 
beyond the reach of all the ordinary means of relief ; and as parental 
affection in such a case will never stop short of the very last resort, it 
was not strange that they thought of the great Physician, who was 
then going about the country, performing signal and even miraculous 
cures. Happily for the poor girl, as well as for her father and all 
concerned, he was among the few of the men of note among the Jews, 
who were disposed to acknowledge the claims of Jesus ; and the hum- 
ble and reverential manner in which he approached him, shows that 
however imperfect may have been his view of the Saviour’s character, 
he was at heart ready to do homage to him as a great and extra- 
ordinary personage. 

It is determined then, as all other help is manifestly unavailing, 
that trial shall be made, if possible, of the skill and power of this 
great philanthropist. And who shall go to search him out ? for as he 
was going about the country in ^rious directions in the fulfilment of 
his mission, it might not be easy at once to find him. The father him- 
self determines to go ; for though it must have cost him a severe effort, 
as no father consents readily to be away from the bedside of an appar- 
ently dying child, yet he might have thought that he should have 
more influence with Jesus than another person, and that the case was 
one of too much urgency to be intrusted to another. With a sad and 
probably an agitated spirit, he sallies forth in quest of the only Being 
on earth, who he has any hope can prevent his daughter’s malady 
from reaching a fatal termination. 

Jesus, always about his Father’s business, happened at that time 
to be a guest in the house of his friend and disciple Matthew ; and he 
was engaged in vindicating his own conduct and that of his disciples 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


169 


in reference to certain matters, against the cavils of some of the Scribes 
and Pharisees. But the appearance of this distressed hither among 
them seems to have interrupted his discourse. With all the anxiety of 
a father’s heart depicted in his countenance and breathing in his utter- 
ances, he made his way to the merciful Saviour, and fell down at his 
feet, and told in a few words his pitiful story, and besought him with 
a truly agonizing importunity, to hasten back with him to his house 
to avert the fatal issue. No wonder that the compassionate heart of 
Jesus should have yielded to his tale of sorrow, and that he should 
forthwith, in consideration of such faith as he here saw exhibited, have 
consented to the anxious father’s request. And as the company who 
were present understood that this was to be the occasion of a miracle, 
they followed him, some perhaps from curiosity, and others possibly 
from better motives, to witness the performance of it. 

What the distance, was between the place where they had been, 
and the place whither they were going, we are not informed; but 
probably it was not a long walk. But while they were on the way, 
when every minute was an hour to the poor anxious father, a circum- 
stance occurred which must have seemed to him exceedingly inauspi- 
cious in regard to the recovery of his child ; a circumstance that 
delayed, for some little time, the Saviour’s arrival at his dwelling. In 
the crowd by which he was attended, there was a woman in the most 
humble circumstances, who had been for twelve years afflicted with 
a grievous malady, which had resisted all medical skill, and had 
exhausted her little substance. Having heard that Jesus wrought 
wonderful cures, and that there was healing for the worst diseases in 
the mere touch of him, she resolved that she would make an experi- 
ment for herself ; and with more of the confidence than the frankness 
of true faith, she undertook to secure to herself stealthily a recovery 
fi’om her malady. And she accomplished her object. She came 


170 


DAUGHTER OP JAIRUS. 


behind him, amidst the throng by whom he was attended, and touched 
the fringe of his garment, and was instantly made whole. Having 
now gained her purpose, she would probably have retired unobserved, 
but that Jesus, willing to turn the miracle to some account in respect 
to those who were present, called out for the person who had touched 
him ; and after an expression of surprise from his disciples that he 
should have asked who touched him, in such a crowd, he fastened his 
eye upon his recovered patient, to show her that she was not hid ; 
whereupon she instantly came forward, and confessed what she had 
done, and what she had experienced in consequence of it. She knew 
that there had been a want of candor in her approach to the Saviour, 
and she evidently expected a rebuke from him ; but with his accus- 
tomed meekness and compassion, he passed over the infirmity which 
she had betrayed, and commended her faith, and sent her forth per- 
manently healed of her malady. 

Notwithstanding the benevolence of this act on the part of Jesus, 
it must have been rather a sad episode to the bleeding heart of that 
agitated father; for he could not but feel that each moment that 
passed increased the probability that he should find his daughter a 
corspe. And this was not all ; for while Jesus was yet speaking to 
the woman, the tidings came from the ruler’s house that the worst had 
actually been realized ; and it was intimated that it would be needless 
to trouble the Master to come to the house, as there was no longer 
any thing, for him to do. It was no doubt an awful moment to the 
father, — (for what father ever heard the news of the death of a 
beloved daughter without the breaking up of the inmost fountains of 
sorrow in his bosom ?) — and possibly he had begun to say in the 
bitterness of his spirit, — “ Oh that that miracle of mercy upon the 
poor woman had been performed at some other time, and then 
perhaps my child had not died ! ” But Jesus does not allow time for 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


171 


his anxious fears to operate ; he encourages his faith by the assur- 
ance that it shall still be rewarded by the giving back to him of 
this endeared object of his care and solicitude. Cheering words, 
indeed, must these have been to the heart of this good man, as 
he walked towards his dwelling to look upon the face of his departed 
child, and to meet his family overwhelmed with the sorrows of 
bereavement. 

And now they have reached the house ; and what a house it is, they 
need not be told who have ever witnessed a djdng scene in theii* own 
domestic circle. There is in such a dwelling that which words cannot 
describe, and even imagination cannot reach, unless it has taken the 
sharp and bitter lessons of experience. There are tears standing in 
every eye ; there is a pang venting itself from every lip ; there is a 
sense of solitude, a bewildered hopeless sort of feeling, and sometimes 
the wild look of frenzy, which distinguish such a house from every 
other. And we have no reason to believe that the dwelling of Jaii-us 
when he returned to it, was less a scene of distress than is experienced 
in other similar cases ; indeed, it would seem from the narrative that 
there were peculiar demonstrations of grief ; for we are told by one 
Evangelist, that “ all wept and bewailed her and by another, that 
“ the people wept and wailed greatly so that she seems to have 
been not only peculiarly beloved by her own family, but a favorite 
among her acquaintances at large ; and there had come thither also 
“ flute players,” to soothe the grief of the friends by their mournful 
strains. 

Jesus has scarcely entered the house before he makes known his 
gracious purpose to give back the damsel to the hearts of her weeping 
friends. But where, oh ye lookers on, where is your faith ? I listen 
to hear words of loving and grateful confidence in Christ : but instead 
thereof, the voice of incredulity and even derision meets my ear. 


172 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


“ What ! That corpse for which the grave is ready and waiting, to be 
reanimated ? Those eyes again to open voluntarily, and that counte- 
nance to be relumed with a returning smile, and all that mechanism 
restored to its healthful and vigorous operation ? Let those believe it 
who can digest impossibilities. Be the power of your Master what it 
may, it surely is not adequate to the changing back of a clod into an 
animated being ! ” 

Stand by now, ye incredulous ones, and let the mighty power of 
God be displayed to your confusion. Ye shall not be permitted to 
witness the miracle, because of your unbelief ; but ye shall be con- 
strained to acknowledge it, because she whom you now behold a fit 
subject for the sepulchre, shall quickly stand up before you in the 
exercise of all the functions of a recovered life. Enter, parents, to see 
your child start into life again. Enter, ye chosen disciples, who, on 
other occasions, were deemed worthy of peculiar honor, — enter and 
witness a new proof of the power and mercy of the Master whom you 
serve. And now that ye are all here, with the dead in the midst of 
you, look on and behold how easily death is conquered. Jesus stands 
by the bedside ; there is no parade in the way of preparation ; 
nothing that betrays the least distrust of his ability to do what 
he has undertaken. He takes hold of her hand, and says to her, 
“ Maiden, I say unto thee, lise up.” Death had made his mark upon 
her ; but those omnipotent words effaced it. She breathed, she spoke, 
she walked ; and as her life, though restored by miracle, was not to be 
supported by miracle, Jesus immediately ordered that food should be 
given her. Do you ask whither her spirit had fled during the time 
that death had dominion over her ? I answer, this is no part of God’s 
revelation, and therefore it is not a legitimate subject for human 
inquuy. Enough for us to know that she was dead, and afterwards 
was alive again. 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


173 


What must have been her emotions on taking her place again 
among the living ! To have heard again the voice of parental love ; 
to have opened her eyes on the radiant countenance, the glorious 
form of him who had done it ; to ’have reflected that she had not 
only passed through the dark valley, as all must, but had actually 
made a return passage at the bidding of the “ Resurrection and the 
Life,” — who can conjecture the reflections, the feelings, the resolutions 
that must have sprung up in her youthful mind ? We know nothing 
of her history beyond this period ; but it surely is not unreasonable 
to suppose that her life was an unceasing expression of gratitude to 
him who had denied the claim which the grave had early made 
upon her. 

Her fond parents, too — what a strangely sorrowful, strangely 
blessed experience was theirs ! How quick the transition, from deep 
mourning to the most intense joy ! Many other parents have seen 
their children die, and have expected to meet them again in the 
resurrection of the just ; but where are the parents in whose behalf 
Omnipotence has thus anticipated the work of the great resurrection 
day ? What must have been their communion with each other, what 
with the loved recovered one, what their recollections of this event 
as long as the lived ? Hay, can we reasonably doubt that the scenes 
of that wonderful day are still often in their mind, and call forth fresh 
thanksgivings from their lips, while they cast their crowns at the feet 
of him who took their daughter by the hand in that chamber of 
death, and said “ Live.” 

Jesus, in the most splendid of his miracles, never betrayed the 
semblance of ostentation ; on the contrary, he often seemed disposed 
to throw a veil over his mighty works. Hence, in this case, he 
charged the witnesses of this stupendous display of his power, not 
needlessly to trumpet it abroad. It was a thing of course, however, 
23 


174 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


that it should come to be known ; for many had known that the 
damsel was dead, and the fact that she was again among the living, 
told the whole story. Jesus passed on to perform other miracles, 
while the fame of this was left to work its own way through the 
surrounding country. 

I love to visit the house of Jairus, because there I find a glorious 
confirmation of the truth of my religion. I know that the doctrines 
which my Master taught are true, because I cannot doubt that he 
who raised the dead must have had a divine power dwelling in him. 
I contemplate his instructions with more delight, after having got my 
mind here filled with the evidence that he came forth from the 
Father, to reveal the Father’s counsels. Infidel cavils, — dreams of a 
wild and cheerless skepticism — invade not the sanctuary of my 
comfort ; tempt not my faith in those words of eternal life which 
my Redeemer hath spoken ! There are other witnesses enough that 
Jesus is the Son of God, but you may dismiss whomsoever else you 
will, if you will only leave me with the testimony of this recovered 
victim of death. 

I love to go to the house of Jairus, because there I find a most 
impressive example of my Saviour’s benevolence. Who would not 
value the recollection of a day spent with that fine model of a 
philanthropist, Howard ; or of a single cii’cuit made in company with 
him through one of the lazarettos or prisons, which he made it his 
vocation to visit and to improve ? But a greater than Howard was 
he who performed that miracle of benevolence in the recovery of the 
ruler’s daughter. And what he did there, was only a specimen of 
his every day labors. God so loved the world as to send his Son 
into it on an errand of love. And in the fulfilment of his mission, he 
scattered blessings at every step ; — blessings for the body and for 
the soul. Stand up, ye multitudes, whose wants were supplied by his 


DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 


175 


bounty, whose diseases were cast out by his power, and testify to the 
goodness and compassion of your deliverer. Stand up, ye ransomed 
ones whom no one can number, and let Heaven’s arch ring with yet 
louder hosannas as you connect with the joys of an immortal existence 
the sufferings and sacrifices, the overfiowing and boundless compassion 
to which you owe them. 

I love to linger in the house of Jairus, because there I contemplate 
a pledge, even a specimen, of the resurrection to life. I look upon 
that maiden, and I cannot doubt that her sleep is the sleep of death. 
There is certainly no living principle there; the utmost that death 
can do, ever did, it has done. I look again, and behold the maiden 
liveth ; — the blood circulates, the heart warms, the eye opens and 
kindles. The reason is, that my Kedeemer has stood by and spoken 
death itself into meek submission. I see my fellow-creatures dying 
around me, and I know that my time must ere long come. I know, 
too, that the earth has received into its bosom, myriads who once 
walked upon its surface ; and the thing that hath been shall be, till 
the purposes of God in successive generations shall be accomplished. 
And shall the dead sleep for ever ? Oh no ! they shall hear the 
voice of the Son of God, — the same voice that said to that maiden, 
“ Arise — and hearing, they shall live. The sepulchral keys are all 
given up, and every sepulchre is unlocked. The bowels of the earth, 
the caverns of the ocean, every spot where human dust has rested, 
obeys the mandate to give up its dead. Wherefore, Christians, 
comfort one another with these words. 





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WIDOW OF NAIN. 

BY KT. REV. J. H. HOPKINS, D. D. 


The story of the Widow of Nain sets before us one of those beautiful 
and affecting examples of our Saviour’s goodness and power, which 
charactemed the sublime course of his whole earthly ministry. We 
shall first cite the brief and simple statement of Scripture, and then 
ask our reader’s attention to those features of the narrative which 
more especially concern ourselves. 

“ It came to pass,” saith the sacred historian, “ that Jesus went 
into a city called Nain, and many of his disciples went with him, and 
much people. Now, when he came nigh to the gate of the city, 
behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, 
and she was a widow ; and much people of the city was with her. 
And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said. 
Weep not. And he came and touched the bier, and they that bare 
him stood stiU. And he said. Young man, I say unto thee, arise. 
And he that was dead, sat up and began to speak : and he delivered 
him to his mother. And there came a fear on aU : and they glorified 
God, saying, that a great prophet is risen up among us, and that God 
liath visited his people.” 


178 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


Now here, in the groundwork of the narrative, we have a case of 
domestic sorrow which comes home to the knowledge of us all — a 
widow, and an only son, — sickness, and death, and sore affliction. 
Let us dwell upon it a little while, and fill up the expressive outline 
as observation and experience shall best warrant. 

First then, we see the widow ; once, perhaps, a happy wife. There 
was a day when she appeared in all the joy of her espousals. The 
bridal wreath was placed upon her head, and parents and friends 
crowded round to bless her union, and long years of earthly bliss 
seemed to open their vista of hope before her. We may naturally 
suppose that she loved her husband, and therein she did weU. 
Perhaps she loved him too dearly, and gave him that place in her 
heart which belonged to God. Ah ! how often the unlawful excess 
. of the natm’al affections leads to idolatry ! How easy it is to put the 
creature in the throne which of right should be reserved for the 
Creator ! Blinded by the very virtues of her companion, and think- 
ing him worthy of the warmest devotion of her youthful feelings, she 
fell into the sin committed by thousands, and garnered up her whole 
soul in the poor frail bond which linked their lot together for a few 
brief years, and thrust far away from her thoughts the prospect of 
their separation, as if the sentence had never been uttered by the 
Almighty : “ Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return — as if 
the word of the Most High had not recorded the solemn lesson of 
earthly fflusion : “ Vanity of vanities, all is vanity ; ” “ Man is born to 
trouble as the sparks fly upward.” 

But the kindness of Providence added another gift to her worldly 
happiness, and she became the rejoicing mother of a son, to whom 
her heart clung with the untold strength of parental affection. And 
it may have been that prosperity scattered sunshine on her path, 
surrounded her with all the comforts which wealth can secure, and 


WIDOW OP NAIN. 


1Y9 


promised lier a rare exemption from tlie usual assaults of eartlily 
grief and suffering. We can imagine her amiable and benevolent, 
social and hospitable, beloved for her personal qualities, and honored 
for the display of every conjugal and maternal virtue. And thus her 
life may have glided on, with few and light interruptions, while her 
soul became steeped in the essence of woiidliness. She was, of course, 
a Jewess, and professed to adore the God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
Jacob; and doubtless she remained faithful to the letter of the Old 
Testament, and to the forms of the ceremonial law. But if, in the 
days of her childhood and youth, the spirit of true religion had ever 
stii’red within her, it had made no deep or durable impression. Her 
husband and her son had become the real objects of her heart’s 
devotion. And thus she went on in confident self-ignorance, un- 
suspicious and secure ; until the mercy of that divine Kedeemer, who 
saw her danger and had compassion on her though she knew him 
not, interposed at length, to save her from destruction. 

And first the companion of her choice is stricken by disease, and 
laid prostrate on the bed of mortal languishing. Day after day, and 
night after night, the faithful wife fulfils her anxious duties — watching 
and soothing, and longing and fearing, and breathing the words of 
tender encouragement, and smiling through her tears lest she might 
depress his spii-its, and hoping against hope; till at last the doubtful 
struggle is decided, and the cherished idol of her youthful affections 
sleeps in death. O, who can describe the spasm of that grief which 
tears the very heartstrings with its inward agony, while it stupefies 
the mind and shows no outward sign of feeling ! Who can paint the 
violence of those emotions which, once let loose from their confine- 
ment, burst forth in a storm of tears and lamentations, refusing to be 
comforted ! Her soul devoted to that husband, now lying before her 
a senseless corpse — practically ignorant of the doctrine of Providence, 


180 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


and of the duty of submission to the will of God — knowing nothing 
of those heavenly desires which look to a better world for all real 
happiness, and seeking no higher enjoyment than that which is now 
lost for ever — the consciousness of utter desolation, the sense of abso- 
lute bereavement, the lonely, gloomy, despairing pang which marks 
the sudden change from the title of wife to the forlorn name of 
widow, — all this we can conceive as a subject of intellectual imagery, 
but nothing save the actual experience can enable us to estimate the 
misery of such a lot, nor can any power of words communicate its 
wretchedness to the mind of another. 

It may be that the poor Widow of Nain learned from this first 
deep affliction, the necessity of true religion, — that in the prostra- 
tion of her worldly hopes she saw how the Lord had been robbed 
of his rightftd worship, and bowed down her head in sorrowful 
repentance, and cried out, in the humiliation of her soul, “ God be 
merciful to me a sinner!” It may be, that from that day she 
acquired a higher and a holier view of the Divine character, and 
began to lead a new life of purer faith and more humble obedience. 
But granting this, it is also most probable that the sanctifying effects 
of her heavy trial began, in time, to wear away. She still retained 
the other object of her tenderness — that only son, who so often 
recalled to her memory the image of his father. And as he grew up 
before her to the years of manhood, and gave a fair promise of being 
her comfort and her stay, it is but too likely that her fond maternal 
feelings led her heart to wander from the Lord, and rest her happi- 
ness again on the frail and brittle reed of earthly affection. And 
therefore it became necessary to appoint another chastisement from 
the hand of her compassionate Saviour. This second idol must be 
also taken ; that thus the work of her conversion might be perfected, 
when she had none to trust in but God alone. 


WIDOW OP NAIN. 


181 


Again she watches by the sick-bed of her sole remaining treasure. 
But not now as formerly, for she had learned to pray, and knew, in 
part, the uses of affliction. Yet she could not be resigned to the idea 
of his death, and all her supplications were for his recovery ; and she 
thought it would be too hard for God to remove the light of her eyes 
with a stroke, and would not believe that there could be either mercy 
or benevolence in a blow which should make the widow childless and 
crush her to the dust, and bring her with a broken heart in sorrow to 
the grave. She did not know, as yet, how deceitful was that heart, 
nor how full of the spirit of self-will and rebellion. She did not 
know, as yet, that she must learn to trust in the Lord with an un- 
doubtiug confidence, and never wish to dictate to that only perfect 
wisdom which cannot err. She did not comprehend, as yet, the 
meaning of the Psalmist when he saith, “ Whom have I in heaven 
but thee : and there is none upon the earth that I desire in comparison 
of thee. Though my flesh and my heart fail, yet God is the strength 
of my heart and my portion for ever.” 

But the Lord saw, if she did not, the peril of her condition, and 
resolved to complete the wholesome discipline of his mercy. The 
mother’s eyes beheld her only son expire before her. His form, just 
opening into manly vigor and proportion, lay wrapped in the gar- 
ments of the grave. His lips, which were never opened to her but in 
the language of filial love, were closed and silent. No more should 
that active brain devise, no more should those willing hands execute 
his plans for her comfort. No more should his buoyant step bring 
pleasure to her ear, nor his voice of music ^ken up the pulses of her 
heart’s affections. Alas ! it was a heavy stroke ; but it cut loose the 
last bond of her earthly idolatry, and she felt that at length she could 
give her whole soul to God. Humbled and subdued, she fell prostrate 
before him, and cried, “The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. 


24 


182 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


Blessed be the name of the Lord.” The deep and solemn peace which 
passeth understanding, descended upon her from above ; and hence- 
forth she resolved that she would live as a pilgrim: and a stranger 
upon earth, only anxious to secure the abiding happiness of the king- 
dom of heaven. 

The faneral rites are all prepared. The train sets forward, and 
the Widow of Nain follows the bier, weepiug those gracious tears 
which are allowed to human grief, when the softened heart is bowed 
down in pious resignation. But now the Saviour, whose providence 
had prepared the whole for a sublime testimony of his goodness and 
his power, meets the sad procession ; and reading the mourner’s soul 
and compassionating the submissive spirit of her suffering, addresses 
her in the encouraging words : Weep not. Then laying his hand 
upon the bier, the bearers set it down ; and while the people gather 
round, surprised by this unusual interruption, the Lord utters the 
irresistible command : Young man, I sat unto thee, akise ! O, it 
was Omnipotence that spake, and the power of death vanished before 
it ! No more a senseless corpse, but fiUed with life and vigor, the 
widow’s son rises up and begins to speak. Overcome with amazement 
and sudden joy, the mother has no strength to rush forward and 
embrace her recovered treasure ; but the Redeemer himself takes him 
by the hand, and, in the fulness of his condescension, delivers the 
bewildered youth into the arms of that dear parent, whose love had 
watched over him from the cradle to the biei’. No wonder that fear 
came upon all who witnessed this stupendous miracle, while some of 
the astonished crowd exckimed that “ a great Prophet had risen up 
amongst them and others, with still more truth cried out, that 
“ God himself had visited his people.” 

In the explanation and enlargement of this Scripture narrative, 
we have endeavored only to supply such facts as accord, on the one 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


183 


hand, with the great principles of the providential government of the 
Almighty ; and on the other, with the ordinary course of human 
experience in this world of trial. And now let us mark our own 
personal interest in their application. 

Nothing is more certain, from the reiterated assurances of the 
word of God, than the great truth, that every event in our mortal life 
is ordered by the supreme will of oua* Heavenly Father. He numbers 
the very hairs of our heads. Nay, without him, even the sparrow 
doth not fall to the ground. He is about our bed, and about our 
path, and taketh note of all our ways. In six troubles and in seven 
he will be with us, causing all things to work together for our good ; 
and his gracious promise is : “ I wiU never leave thee, nor forsake 
thee.” If, then, there be widowhood and orphanage — if the wife be 
called to mourn over the early grave of the husband — if the mother 
be doomed to close the eyes of her beloved and only son — if a count- 
less variety of other sorrows attend our earthly com’se — the hand of 
the Lord is in aU these afflictions, and they come at his bidding, as 
the messengers of his will. 

But it is equally certain that he has a purpose in appointing these 
sufferings ; and that purpose must needs be in strict accordance with 
the attributes of his divine character. “ The Lord,” saith the Scrip- 
ture, “ doth not willingly afflict nor grieve the childi’en of men.” As 
a kind father chasteneth the son in whom he delighteth, even so doth 
God chasten his spiritual children for their good. It is a grievous 
error to suppose that our trials can come upon us, without the special 
will of the Most High; and it is blasphemy outright to say that 
caprice, or cruelty, or ignorance, or error, can by possibility be 
charged upon his dispensations. He is possessed of all conceivable 
perfections. Boundless knowledge, infinite wisdom, immaculate justice, 
immeasurable power, mercy and love, belong to him, and mark every 


184 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


step of his divine administration. And therefore, the object of om* 
temporal correction is fully declared by the great Kedeemer, when he 
saith, “ through tribulation ye must enter the kingdom of heaven 
for “ they who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” The same doctrine 
substantially, was laid down in the Old Testament by the inspired 
Solomon : “ The house of mourning,” saith he, “ is better than the 
house of feasting, for that is the» end of all men, and the living will 
lay it to his heart.” The design of the Lord then is plain, in ordering 
our afflictions ; for he administers them in pity and compassion, as 
medicines to our souls ; and like a wise physician, administers them 
only when the disease of sin renders them necessary. 

The next remark which is suggested by onr narrative is, that one 
or two of those trials will not suffice to accomplish the merciful pur- 
pose of our divine Saviour ; just as one or two applications of medicine 
will not conquer an obstinate disease. So long as the sickness of the 
body continues, no one would thank his earthly physician for ceasing 
his unpalatable prescriptions ; for the object is to heal the patient, and, 
therefore, the medicines must be taken until the recovery is complete. 
The only exception to this rule is in those cases where the disease is 
utterly hopeless, and the sick are given up as beyond the reach of 
cure. In like manner, precisely, our Heavenly Physician deals with 
the diseases of the soul. Affiiction after affiiction, trial after trial 
must be administered, because our rebellious self-will remains uncon- 
quered, and the carnal affections of the natural heart continue unsub- 
dued. The exception here is on a similar principle ; for the Lord 
ceases to dispense those salutary sufferings to those whom he abandons 
as incurable, and hence the long course of uninterrupted prosperity 
sometimes seen in the lives of the ungodly, while religious and pious 
men, sincere, but still far from perfect holiness, are bowed down from 
time to time in sufferiag and sorrow. 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


185 


But to all wlio accept ariglit tlie dispensations of the Almighty, 
and thankfully acknowledge the goodness and mercy of the Lord in 
the day of trial, the language of the gracious Redeemer will be the 
same which he applied to the humble and contrite heart of the Widow 
of Nain : Weep not : thine hour of deliverance is at hand, and thy 
blessings shall be restored to thee. Weep not, for the bitterness of 
thy grief shall be turned to rejoicing, and thou shalt be made a par- 
taker of the peace which the world can neither give nor take away. 
Weep not, for those whom thou hast mourned shall rise again, and 
thou shalt behold them in the glory of the Saviour’s kingdom. We 
are assured in this glorious Gospel, that the same Omnipotent voice 
shall thrill throughout the darkness of the tomb. The earth and the 
sea shall give up their dead, the corruptible shall put on incorruption, 
and the mortal shall put on immortality. Faith shall be changed into 
perfect knowledge. Hope shall give place to full fruition. Death 
shall be swallowed up in victory. The Lamb of God who purchased 
the redemption of his people with his own precious blood, shall feed 
them, and lead them by the pleasant fountains of waters ; and sighs 
and tears, and sin and sorrow, shall be known no more. 

And shall our portion be with these ? Have we any evidence that 
our names shall be found written in the book of life ? The question 
may be answered if we can only read our own hearts aright, for the 
rule of Scripture lays down the principle : “ As many as are led by 
the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God and again, saith the 
Apostle, “K any man have not the Spirit. of Christ, he is none of 
his.” Now there is no better test, in general, of the influence which 
the Spirit of Christ has upon us, than the temper in which we bear 
our portion of earthly sorrow. Many there *are in every age of the 
world, who, like the Widow of Nain, have bowed down beneath the 
grief of widowhood, and followed to the grave an only son. All of 


186 


WIDOW OF NAIN. 


us have been called, in some measure, to suffer in the bereavement of 
the objects of our warmest affections. And in a vast variety of other 
forms, the hand of our Heavenly Father has chastened us for our 
good. Sickness and pain, loss and disappointment, alienation and 
hostility, envy and strife, rebellion and ingratitude, poverty and priva- 
tion, — all are intended to remind us of eternity, to wean us from the 
world, to break down our secret idolatry, to turn our hearts towards 
our heavenly inheritance, to teach us where we shall find the only real 
happiness, and to subdue our pride and self-will to the frame of 
humble penitence, and absolute dependence on Christ, and fervent 
prayer, and constant striving after that holiness, without which none 
shall see the Lord. Surely, therefore, we ought to examine our past 
lives, and ask ourselves whether such has been the fruit of our tribu- 
lations. Blessed shall we be if we can honestly answer in the affirma- 
tive ; for the Spirit of Christ will then bear witness with our spirit, 
that we are indeed the children of God. But if it be otherwise — 
if sorrow has not sanctified, nor chastisement corrected, nor warning 
instructed us, we may well fear that we have “ neither part nor lot 
in the matter,” but are still “ in the gall of bitterness and the bond 
of iniquity.” 






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MICHAL. 


BY EEV. J. F. STEAENS. 


Few monarchs have started on their career in circumstances of greater 
promise than Saul. Selected by God himself from among all his 
countrymen, set apart for his high office by one of the greatest of the 
prophets, noble in person, gifted in intellect, and a general favorite ; 
a brilliant reign seemed to open itself before him. But he proved 
himself inadequate to his high station. Self-sufficient, jealous, and 
vindictive, he soon forfeited the respect and confidence of his subjects, 
and drew down upon him, by his disobedience, the displeasure and 
rejection of Israel’s God. 

The reign of Saul had reached its culminating point, and was fast 
verging to its decline. Samuel, the prophet, who anointed him to 
be king, had wept over his fall, till Jehovah chode with him for his 
vain regrets. The fatal sentence had been uttered : “ God hath 
rejected thee from beiug king,” and already the destined successor of 
his crown, a young Bethlehemite, had received in secret the prophetic 
blessing and the holy anointing oil. Over Saul’s own spirit a dark 
cloud of melancholy had settled, approaching by fits to madness ; 
and at every movement which he made, a kind of infatuation, the 


188 


MICHAL. 


result of God’s desertion of him, seemed to involve Mm in deeper 
trouble. 

It is in such circumstances, that Mcbal, the youngest daughter of 
Saul, makes her appearance on the stage of sacred history : 


“ Weep, daughter of a royal line, 

A sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay ; 
Ah, happy I if each tear of thine 
Could wash a father’s fault away ! ” 


It was the fortune of Michal to be the connecting link between a 
faUing and a risiug dynasty. The princess had set her affections on a 
young courtier in her father’s service. Brave, generous, affectionate, 
and comely, he was worthy in aU respects to possess the heart of a 
king’s daughter. His early youth had been distiuguished for its 
piety; and, in that piety and the attainments to which it was the 
chief stimulus, were sown the seeds of his future greatness. David 
was a shepherd’s boy. Tending his father’s flocks on the plains of 
Bethlehem, and accustomed to beguile the weariness of his watch 
with psalms of praise to the God of Israel ; the shill which he attained 
upon the harp, his favorite instrument, commended him to the notice 
of Saul’s servants, who were seeking for a minstrel to allay their 
master’s irritation, in those fearful fits of melancholy, to which his 
God-forsaken spirit had become subject. In this capacity, he was 
introduced at court, and became the monarch’s favorite. 

Whether IVIichal, at this period, knew and loved David, the sacred 
narrative does not inform us. Perhaps, even then, the sweet tones of 
his harp stole their way into her youthful bosom. Perhaps, as the 
young shepherd armor-bearer retired from the august presence of his 
sovereign to attend the flocks of his father, the pleasing consciousness 


MICHAL. 


189 


went with him, and other ears than those of Saul had been drinking 
in his melody, and another heart would be waiting, with loving, long- 
ing earnestness, for the hour of his return. Over all this, time has 
now drawn an impenetrable veil. 

The crisis of David’s greatness was fast approaching. There was 
a perilous war going on between Israel and the Philistines. Saul and 
his princely son Jonathan, the pride of his house, had buckled on 
their armor, and gone bravely down to the field of battle. But the 
fortunes of the day were untoward. A mighty giant, Goliath by 
name, had come forth from the host of the Philistines ; and, defying 
both the armies of Israel and the God in whom they trusted, demanded 
a champion, who should decide the fate of the war in single combat 
with himself. AU Israel was in dismay ; for such a champion could 
not be found. Saul had issued a proclamation, offering royal gifts and 
dignities, and, withal, the hand of his own daughter, to the successful 
combatant. But day followed on after day ; and the splendid prize 
tempted none to venture the perilous endeavor. 

At this juncture, young David made his appearance in the camp. 
He came simply for the purpose of inquiring after the welfare of his 
elder brothers, soldiers in Saul’s army, and bringing them supplies. 
He saw the Philistine, and heard of the reward which Saul had offered. 
Surprised at the consternation of the warriors, he inquired, in the sim- 
plicity of his heart; — “Who is this Philistine, that he should defy 
the armies of the living God ? Hath not Jehovah the power ?” Then 
he looked upon the giant’s massive form and said; — “lam but a 
stripling, and he a host in himself. But I remember that God helped 
me once to slay a lion and a bear, fierce savage beasts as they were. 
Shall he not make this proud blaspheming boaster as one of them ?” 

To Saul, the adventure seemed perilously rash ; and he would fain 
have dissuaded the young hero. But resisting all persuasions of 


190 


MICH AL. 


fear, and casting aside the helmet and the mail, with which they 
would have equipped him, he chose him out five smooth stones from 
the brook ; and, with only a shepherd’s sling, confronted the giant 
^warrior. The contrast is sublime. There stand they; David, the 
stripling, with his sling and bag of stones, and, striding haughty in 
massive armor,' the mighty giant, Goliath of Gath. “ Am I a dog, 
beardless boy ?” vaunts the Philistine. “ Come to me, and I will give 
thy tender flesh to the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field.” 
The youth replies, “ Thou comest unto me with a sword, and a spear, 
and a shield. But I come to thee, in the name of the God of the 
armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.” There was a pause. The 
stripling’s hand is on his sling. Swift speeds the smooth stone towards 
its mark. Guided by Providence, it smites and penetrates the giant’s 
forehead ; and, in a moment, Goliath of Gath falls, to rise no more. 
The army flee ; the Israelites pursue. Even to the gates of Ekron 
and of Gath, the pride of Philistia is laid low. 

What honors now await thee, young shepherd warrior ! Thou 
art a nation’s hero now, a nation’s boast and pride. The damsels of 
Israel, as they attended the returning victors, chanted the achieve- 
ments of that day. Saul was a glorious hero. But David, the young 
stripling David, now attracted all hearts towards himself. And the 
young maidens smiled with looks of love and admiration, as they 
sung, answering to each other in alternate bands, “ Saul has slain his 
thousands, and David his ten thousands.” Kejoice, monarch of Israel, 
thy dreaded foe can no more trouble thee. Rejoice, the nations of 
the earth boast no hero, that can rival thy own minstrel boy. 

But, in the heart of Saul, no joy thrilled at this event, glorious as 
it seemed. The serpent envy was there ; and, as the song went on, she 
hissed and reared her hateful crest, and stung his jealous bosom. At 
every strain, the hated words, “ David his ten thousands,” smote upon 


MICHAL. 


191 


his ear like the knell of his royalty. What can he have more, said 
he, but the kingdom? The kingdom? Yes, the kingdom. Little 
dreamed he that those words were prophecy. “ Saul eyed David 
from that day forth,” says the sacred narrative, “ and sought occasion 
to slay him.” 

But where was Michal, the loving Michal, during these transac- 
tions ? The soul of her princely brother Jonathan, the heir to the 
crown, was knit to David’s, from that time, in a friendship which has 
defied all parallel. What hopes or fears beat now in his fair sister’s 
bosom? Did not her heart thrill with unwonted emotions, as she 
heard, and perhaps joined the song of the damsels of Israel? 

IMichal had little prospect, at this period, of becoming the wife of 
David. Perhaps he thought not of her, nor (breamed of her secret 
love. By the promise of Saul, offering Merab as the prize of victory, 
his mind had been pre-occupied with another object. That which 
raised the hopes of his other admirers to the highest point was a 
death-blow to hers. She must now, as it seemed, relinquish for ever 
all her fond wishes, and be content to see the object of her love happy 
in the possession of another than herself. 

But how strangely are the events of this world often brought 
about ! By an act of treachery on the part of Saul, as unprovoked as 
it was wicked, the eldest daughter, whom David had won so nobly, 
and for whose sake he had submitted to so many vexing delays, and 
engaged in so many hazardous enterprises, became the bride of 
another, at the very moment when the fulfilment of the pledge which 
made her his, could be no longer postponed. The very act which 
blasted for the time aU his hopes of a royal alliance, and mortified 
his pride in the most sensitive point, prepared the' way for a con- 
nection, in which all the worldly advantages which he had before 


192 


MICHAL. 


anticipated, should be combined with that far richer and more royal 
prize — a loving heart. 

The secret attachment of Michal now began to discover itself. 
It was whispered through the royal household, and came to the ears 
of David and of Saul. To her surprise and joy, it not only met a 
kind response from the young adventurer who had been hitherto its 
unconscious object, but was received with favor by her jealous father, 
and obtained his ready consent. 

“ She shall be his,” said the deceitful monarch. “ Cheer up, young 
hero. It was fit and necessary that the eldest should be given to 
another; but my royal promise shall be kept with thee, and thou 
shalt stni he the king’s son-in-law. Yet win her first. Bring me the 
trophies of a hundred slaughtered Philistines, and she, the young, the 
beautiful, the loving, is thine own.” The task is undertaken. Twice 
the number of the bloody spoils are brought and counted out at the 
king’s feet, and the prize won so bravely can be withheld no longer. 

The fair young princess had now gained the consummation of her 
hopes. The hero of the field of Elah, the boast of the nation, and 
the admiration and praise of aU the damsels of Israel, was at length 
her own. But new troubles awaited her. The jealousy of Saul had 
been kindled to new fury. He had consented to the marriage with 
the treacherous hope, that the adventurous bridegroom might fall a 
victim to his rash bravery iu attempting to f ulfil its conditions. Or, 
if not, he flattered himself that his daughter might be made a ready 
instrument to his own murderous hatred. But when he saw that his 
intended victim had escaped the snare ; that he was enjoying God’s 
favor, growing iu popularity with all the nation, and sincerely beloved 
and cherished by his young bride, — the rage of the monarch knew 
no bounds. Every day was the affectionate bosom of Michal agitated 


MICHAL. 


193 


with new fear, lest the object of her tenderest regard should fall by 
the hand of her own father. 

Pass we to the house, where the noble pair have taken up their 
abode. It is night, and within all is still. But who are these, creep- 
ing stealthily about the door, in the dim starlight ? They are a band 
of assassins. Saul has given them directions to watch the house 
dming the night, and seize and mm-der the unsuspecting victim as he 
attempts to come forth in the morning. But Michal is on the alert. 
She, whom Saul gave to David that she might be a snare to him, 
now proves herself an angel of mercy. The morning dawns; but 
David comes not forth. He is sick, she replies to the inquiring 
messengers. Bring him hither in his bed, commands the determined 
monarch. The bed is brought ; — the sick man sleeping apparently, 
with his face covered with a cloth. Burning with rage, Saul seizes a 
dagger in one hand, and with the other, tears olf the covering. Lo, 
the intended victim is not there ! A lifeless image, with its head 
resting on a bolster of goat’s hair, is aU that can be found. Michal 
had let her husband down from a window secretly during the night, 
and he is now far away beyond the reach of his pursuers. 

It was a sad day for her when she was thus forced to part with 
her beloved husband, and see him driven away into a foreign land, 
and hunted from cavern to forest “ as a partridge on the mountains,” 
by the rage of her unscrupulous father. But she knew not yet all the 
bitterness of her cup of sorrow. Saul reproached her, angrily, as an 
unfilial daughter : and since he could not now reach the person of his 
intended victim, proceeded to inflict, both on him and her, the 
severest wound which even his malice could invent. He took the 
faithful wife, in the absence of her husband, and to reward her 
conjugal fidelity, gave her away hopelessly to another. 


194 


MICHAL. 


Now occurs a long blank in Michal’s history. Severed by violence 
from her rightful husband, she pines, an unwilling and degraded cap- 
tive, in the house of a stranger. Of her fate during this interval, her 
hopes and fears, her mortifications and struggles, we know nothing 
except from conjecture. Perhaps she had succeeded in subduing her 
wounded love and blunting the edge of her sensibilities ; and, soothed 
by the kindness of her new husband, who seems to have loved her 
tenderly, forgot in a degree her early attachment. Perhaps the hope 
of a reunion at some distant day, gleamed occasionally across her 
sj)irit, only to leave her in greater discouragement. Little dreamed 
she then of greeting the hunted exile, as the sovereign of Israel ; and 
sitting beside him, as his queen, on the throne of her father ! 

But the purposes of God concerning the kingdom were now fast 
maturing. Saul and his three eldest sons perished together on the 
heights of Gilboa. The tribe of Judah declared for David ; and, after 
a struggle of seven years, — David all the while becoming stronger 
and stronger, and the house of Saul weaker and weaker, — the remain- 
ing eleven tribes joined their brethren, and David was proclaimed 
king over all Israel. 

But will he now remember the love of his youth ? It marks the 
strength of his attachment, no less than his wise policy ; and seems 
to indicate the loveliness of her person and character^ that he would 
not consent to the proposals offered him for the settlement of the 
kingdom, except on the condition of her restoration. “Dehver me 
my wife,” said he. “ One thing do I require of thee ; thou shalt not 
see my face, except thou first bring Michal, Saul’s daughter, when 
thou comest to see my face.” It was a sad day to the unhappy man, 
who had all this while called and thought himself her husband ; and 
who manifested his sincere regard for her, by following the train 


M I C H A L . 


195 


which bore her away, weeping as it went. But the king’s orders 
were peremptory, and Michal was at length reinstated in her conjugal 
rights, 

David was now monarch of Israel ; and no king reigned with 
greater glory. The rebellious inhabitants of the yet unreclaimed 
parts of the promised land were subdued under him. He spread the 
terror of his arms, and the splendor of his fame all abroad ; and not 
only reigned undisputed over all the realm of Saul, but made his do- 
minion extend over many of the surrounding nations. Happy Michal ! 
She sits a queen upon the throne of her father, beside the man whom 
her heart chose in the days of his obscurity. 

But some sad changes, as well as some flattering ones, had come 
over the condition of the royal pair since their separation. Michal 
finds neither her home, nor her husband, nor herself, the same as 
before. Ho longer is she the undisputed mistress of David’s royal 
heart. No longer do his fresh affections respond as of yore, un- 
divded, to her every look of love. Polygamy, that curse of the 
domestic life of antiquity, has been throwing over their home its 
baleful influence. Other hearts than hers now share her lord’s 
affections ; and their claims, even she, though a king’s daughter and 
a fii’st-love, may not dispute. Worse than all, in the vicissitudes 
through which she has passed, her own mind has undergone some 
deterioration. She was Saul’s daughter, and the curse of Saul’s evil 
character seems at length to have begun to display itself in her own 
disposition and conduct. Michal’s grand defect was the want of 
piety ; and this, as we shall see in the sequel, marred, and gradually 
undermined aU the excellencies of her character ; and unfitted her for 
that high station, to which, as the wife of David and the mother of 
such a dynasty as God was founding in him, she might otherwise have 
been destined. 


196 


MICHAL. 


David, as we have seen already, was a man of devoted piety. No 
victory so thrilled his heart ; no triumphs or tokens of royalty so 
delighted him, as the service of Jehovah, his faithful covenant-keeping 
God. The pleasm*e which he felt when a shepherd’s boy, celebrating 
God’s praises alone upon the harp, was now renewed and heightened ; 
as a splendid choir, set in order by his own munificence, chanted those 
same praises with all sorts of the most exquisite instruments. He 
was a monarch, but he was such only by Divine interposition ; and, 
in his acknowledgments of the Divine favor, he deemed no degree 
of humiliation incompatible with his regal dignity. 

It was a day of special religious joy. The ark of God, the symbol 
of Jehovah’s presence, hitherto lodged in a private house, was now to 
be brought in solemn pomp to its appointed place on Mount Zion. 
David was overflowing with gladness. God was now coming, as it 
seemed to him, to dwell in very deed in his own city, crowning all his 
victories, and fulfilling the precious promises of the covenant. It was 
a splendid scene. The Levites, in their sacred robes, attended in 
solemn procession. The priests were all at their posts. Choirs of 
musicians made the air ring with music, such as Israel never heard 
before. Some struck the cymbals, some touched the psalteries and 
harps, some praised Jehovah with the song. The trumpets pealed. 
The blood of bullocks and of rams flowed freely. All Israel, with 
their chiefs, from Sihor of Egypt even to the entering in of Hamath, 
were in attendance, an unnumbered throng. David, their king, put 
olf the vestments of royalty, and covered his person with a simple 
robe of pure white linen ; and, when the musicians played upon their 
instruments, and the singers sang, and the people shouted, David also 
lifted up his voice of joy, and, in the excess of his enthusiasm, 
“ danced before the Lord with all his might.” 

Where now is Michal ? Is she mingling with the choirs of women 


MICHAL. 


197 


to enjoy and heighten the pomp of that glorious day ? When the 
daughter of Israel sing and dance beside their monarch, is Israel’s 
noblest daughter proud to distinguish herself, as among the most 
enthusiastic of them all ? No ! Michal is not there. Glance your 
eye towards that window. There stands the royal lady, with her 
form half concealed, gazing on the scene. Why there? What 
thoughts occupy her ? The scene perhaps was too exciting for her to 
mingle in, — the joy too great. Or, she has seized upon that post of 
observation, and is looking down, admiringly, upon her royal hus- 
band ; now not a king or conqueror only, but a saint of God ! “There 
stands my hero,” exclaims she, “in the height of his glory. He seemed 
glorious, when the daughters of Israel sung the triumphant chant, as 
he returned from the slaughter of the Philistine. Proud was my 
loving heart, as I saw him second to none in my father’s household. 
Still prouder, when he owned me as his queen, the wife of his youth 
not forgotten, when all Israel submitted themselves to his sceptre. 
But now, proudest of all, I see the honors of Heaven smybolized by 
those white robes in which he ministers, eclipsing by their superior 
splendor, all the glories of an earthly throne. Not the purple of 
Tyre’s haughty monarch seems half so royal, as that plain linen gar- 
ment. Nor the nod of the haughtiest despot shows such dignity, as 
the exulting dance of my monarch-saint.” But no ! Such thoughts 
rove not through the breast of Michal. Mortification is there ; scorn- 
ful pride corrodes her heart. Michal, Saul’s daughter and David’s 
earliest love, is looking down upon that scene with contempt ! 

The pomp was ended. The music and the dancing ceased. The 
ark was settled in its place. David distributed to aU the people 
tokens of his bounty ; and when the royal blessing was pronounced, 
all Israel returned to their several homes. 


26 


198 


MICHAL. 


The monarch retired to his. He had blessed his subjects : now 
must he bless his own family, and find repose in their sympathy. 
Who comes to meet him as he approaches ? It is Michal ; she who, 
beyond all others, shared with him the fearful vicissitudes of which 
this day is the joyful completion. From her he might expect the 
intensest sympathy, especially in the matter of his piety.* But what 
says she ? Brace' thy nerves, monarch of Israel. Steel thine heart for 
a stab. “ How glorious was the king of Israel to-day, who uncovered 
himself to-day in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one 
of the vain fellows shamelessly uncovereth himself ! ” And is it so ? 
Little did David dream of a rebuff like this at his own door. His 
answer is memorable. “ It was before the Lord ; who chose me 
before thy father and before all his house, to appoint me ruler over 
his people, over Israel ; therefore will I play before the Lord.” Had 
the scene been one of worldly mirth, she might well have reproached 
him for compromising his kingly dignity. But God is higher than 
kings. Monarchs are dust and ashes in his sight. “ And I ■wall yet 
be,” he proceeds, “ more "vdle than this, and will be base in mine own 
sight ; and of the maid-servants whom thou hast spoken of, of them 
shall I be had in honor.” 

. Unhappy IMichal ! The secret mischief of her character, so long 
kept back by the force of circumstances, has now fairly discovered 
itself. Many excellent qualities, unquestionably, adorned her nature. 
Her warm and susceptible heart beat quick responses to the claims of 
an earthly love. Her conjugal fidelity triumphed over danger, and 
enabled her to face, 'mthout shrinking, the ire of her half-mad and 
unscrupulous father ; and, when the jealous monarch would have 
stained his hands 'with the blood of a son, she, by her intrepidity, her 
quick invention and her prompt action, both saved him from the curse 


M I C H A L . 


199 


of murder, and rescued her husband from an untimely death. For all 
this, she gained a worthy reward, in the attachment and enduring 
devotion of him to whom her heart had been given. 

But Michal was a worldly woman. Not one humble prayer, one 
holy vow, one song of praise and thanksgiving, one sigh of penitence, 
or one acknowledgment of the claims of God over human hearts, is 
recorded as having passed her lips. The spirit of her father, who 
favored religion only when it might subserve his own purposes, and 
not that of her husband, with whom God’s service was the chief end 
of life, ruled in her heart. The ardor of her husband’s piety was a 
mortification to her. Like many in humbler spheres, she deemed the 
enthusiasm of a devout woi*shipper beneath the dignity of a man of 
eminence. Even her conjugal affection bowed to this false shame ; 
and, to add keenness to her ungodly reproaches, she could misinterpret 
her husband’s conduct, representing his simple robe of white linen, 
as a shameless uncovering of himself ; and his holy exultation as the 
revels of the shameless fellows. 

Who would have dreamed of this, when youth and beauty, and 
the fervor of young love clothed her with their charms ? But these, 
without religion, are but fading graces. Like the charms which some- 
times linger around the features of the dead, they may seem life- 
like for a while ; but, dust they are, and unto dust they must return. 
There can be little permanent happiness in the conjugal state, where 
the union is not cemented by a community of feeling in respect to the 
most sacred relations of the soul. Fair daughter of Saul, thy charms 
are indeed faded now ! The gold has become dim, and the most fine 
gold changed ! 

Saul’s house seems to have been a doomed house, from the day 
when he forsook God and was forsaken of him. Awhile it seemed as 
if one living branch of that degenerate stock might still flourish 




200 


MICHAL. 


"bearing an ingrafted scion of a better tree. But God bad otherwise 
designed. The bouse of David might support itself awhile upon the 
remnant of Saul’s, till its foundations were secured and its buttresses 
erected. Then must the last vestige of the ungodly king perish, and 
no heir of his succeed. 

We have said that the curse of Saul’s character was upon Michal ; 
and so, as we see presently, was that of his destiny. In the closing 
scenes of this queen’s life, we seem to hear the same sentence pro- 
nounced upon her, which sounded such a knell in the ears of her 
unhappy father, “ God hath rejected thee !” No son of thine shall sit 
upon the throne of David ; no scion of thy stock shall bear “ the 
Righteous Branch.” A rod shall come forth out of the stem of Jesse, 
and a branch shall grow out of his roots, but it shall not be thine. 

Michal was childless, by God’s special frown for her impiety, else, 
as the natural heir of both crowns, her son would have had the fairest 
claim to the succession. But to solace her loneliness, and perhaps to 
fui’nish, out of her own family, a probable heir to the throne, she had 
adopted as her own the sons of her elder sister. There was a famine 
in the land ; for Saul’s t'reacherous dealings with the Gibeonites, a 
race of menials with whom Israel was in covenant to leave them 
unmolested in the midst of the nation, had drawn down the dis- 
pleasure of Heaven. The Gibeonites must be avenged. We cannot 
stop to discuss the moral bearings of the transaction. Doubtless they 
are complicated. Suffice it to say, the demand of the Gibeonites, 
that seven sons of Saul should be given up to them for execution, in 
expiation of the cruelties of that cruel family, was conceded. Seven 
men were sought for; and, Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, 
David’s special friend, being exempted for his father’s sake, there 
remained only the two sons of Saul by Rispah, the daughter of Aiah, 
and the five adopted sons of Michal, children of her elder sister. 


V 


MICHAL. 201 

Sad was the day when these seven brave youths perished in their 
prime ! The veil is drawn gloomily over the fallen dynasty ; the 
rejection is consummated; and from this time forth, Michal disappears 
from sacred history. 

We close this sketch in sadness, as we were compelled to begin it. 
The morning lowered with clouds around the head of this royal lady. 
But the sun broke through at length ; and, the tempest being still, 
bade fair to ride on in splendor through a bright and lovely day. 
But the eveniug shadows gathered long ere the day was spent, and 
night without a star, shuts up the mournful view. 

Michal, like Saul, stands on the sacred page, as an example of 
slighted privileges. By the favor of God, she was brought very near 
to the kingdom of heaven, and had the strongest inducements to 
enter it. But she refused ; and that sinful choice spread its blight 
over her whole destiny. 


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M A E T H A. 


^ BY EEV. EGBERT A. HALLA3I. 


Of the personal history of Martha we know little. She was the 
sister of Lazarus and Mary, and dwelt in the village of Bethany, near 
Jerusalem : where together, they formed a household. She was pro- 
bably the elder sister, and head of the domestic establishment ; for it 
is said of her by St. Luke, that she received. Jesus into her house. 
Beneath their hospitable roof our Lord often sojourned; and their 
uniform attachment and sympathy forms one of the brightest spots in 
the history of the Man of sorrows. Their dwelling was his nightly 
resort during his last visit to Jerusalem ; and in their behalf he 
wrought that stupendous and touching miracle, which so exasperated 
the enmity of the priesthood, that it led to his arrest and condemna- 
tion. Into their bosoms he was wont to pour out his sorrows, and 
from their kindness to experience consolation and relief. A member 
of such a family cannot fail to be regarded with interest by Christian 
bosoms. 

And in Martha we have presented to view a phase of female 
goodness, which, if it be less lovely and attractive than that of her 
sister, is still not without its points of interest and excellence, nor 


204 


MARTHA. 


incapable of affording us instruction as well as admonition. Mary’s 
was the contemplative form of piety, Martba’s the practical; Mary 
delighted most in devotion, Martha in activity ; the seat of Mary’s 
religion was more the inner, of Martha’s, more the outer life. A 
difference of nature had doubtless much to do with the spiritual 
unlikeness. So we see it continually. Godliness is every where 
modified by the previous bent and habit of nature ; and the original 
cast of character continues always to influence and distinguish the 
development of the work of grace. The spiritual world presents the 
same variety of feature and expression as the natural. Men are no 
more made alike by grace than by nature, only bj^the one they are 
all rendered holy, as by the other they are all made human. But the 
forms and guises of holiness are many and various. The end of 
sanctification is not to reduce humanity to a tame and level sameness, 
or put upon it an aspect of dull and monotonous uniformity. It only 
consecrates the diversity that it finds, and communicates to all its 
variations a common tincture of the heavenly and divine. In some, 
thought and feeling will predominate; in others, action and per- 
formance. Their sanctification consists in this, thfit without destroying 
their dissimilarity, it has consecrated them alike to the service of God. 
Under its control, sentiment will be holy sentiment, activity holy 
activity ; and whether the inward or the outward life be the more 
busy and intense, the image of God is imprinted upon it, and the 
service of God has become its object and its end. Mary, sitting at 
the Saviour’s feet, and Martha, occupied with domestic cares, is each 
a study worthy of consideration, and in some points, of imitation and 
praise. “ There are diversities of gifts, but the same spirit.” There 
is room in the family of Christ for every species of service to which 
the constitutional differences of men adapt and prompt them. And 
the common field of these joint but various labors is by their very 


MAETHA. 


205 


diversity rendered at once more beautiful and more productive, a 
more cheerful scene for laborers and for beholders, more prolific of 
good to men and glory to God. 

The religion of contemplation and of activity has each its charac- 
teristic excellencies and faults, its advantages and its dangers. The 
Scripture narrative brings to light the happier side of the one in the 
case of Mary, and the less favorable of the other in that of Martha. 
And yet we ought not to infer that the one character is the subject of 
indiscriminate praise, nor the other of utter and unqualified condem- 
nation. Jesus, it. is written, loved Martha as well as Mary ; for she, 
as truly as her sister, was a real disciple, his faithful follower and 
affectionate friend ; and if, once, her ill-directed assiduity and over- 
ambitious zeal drew from his lips words of gentle admonition and 
reproof, it was not because he did not see and recognize in her a 
loving and faithful heart, but because he would fain guard her against 
the dangers peculiarly incident to her constitution, and with the holy 
jealousy of an enlightened and discriminating affection, indicate and 
check in her the earliest symptoms of aberration and decay. In the 
active temperament of Martha the service of her Master was too 
liable to degenerate into display and secularly, shrouding themselves 
from her own notice under the specious guise of an earnest and labo- 
rious devotedness ; and meaner motives and more selfish tempers than 
she would have been willing to harbor, or ready to acknowledge, to 
creep insensibly into a heart too busy with the outward, to heed as it 
ought the condition of the inward. He saw the peril and the delusion, 
and administered a kind and timely rebuke: — “Martha! Martha! 
Thou art careful and troubled about many things ; but one thing is 
needful.” On hospitable cares intent, anxious to prove her attach- 
ment to her guest, and a little, to exhibit her own good housewifery 
and hospitality, by the utmost sumptuousness her means or her labor 


HL... 


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206 


MARTHA. 


could effect, indignant that Mary on so important an occasion liad 
Avithdrawn herself from her share of those preparations, by which, 
mistakenly, in her own mind, that importance was to be gauged and 
manifested, and had left her to serve alone, in order that she might sit 
at the feet of Jesus and hear his word, she came to him with words 
of complaint and accusation against her sister. But Jesus only replied 
to her Avith a mild reproof of her own too anxious and engrossing 
activity, and a gentle commendation of Mary’s more spiritual and 
acceptable attentions. Martha was a busy, bustling, notable, ambi- 
tious person. Her activity was well, but it was in this instance ill- 
timed and ill-directed ; it was not seasoned as it ought to have been 
with thought and self-communion ; and therefore under the cover of 
it the world crept in to debase her motives and ruffle her temper. 
And yet we ought not to forget that Mary’s cast of character had 
its dangers too, as well as Martha’s, — its own special tendency to 
CAol, to a different eAnl to be sure, but one not less pernicious or less 
inconsistent with spiritual health and Christian usefulness. We do 
not know that she ever fell into it, but she was certainly liable to it. 
The danger on either side lies in a too exclusive foUoAving of the 
characteristic bent, a too engrossing culture of the favorite form of 
goodness. As the result, the symmetry and vigor of the character 
are lost, and feebleness and corruption engendered. The spiritual 
man loses proportion and strength. A beauty turns into a deformity 
and disease. Contemplation degenerates into vague, dreamy, indolent 
sentimentalism ; activity into unthinking, shallow, mechanical bustle. 
Contemplation, in a nature that favors it, may be allowed so far to 
predominate, as to communicate to the character a distinguishing 
form and aspect, a visible stamp and signature ; but it must ally 
itself Avith actions in order to remain safe, healthy, and pure. 
Action, too, may have its special votaries it is the department of 


goodness in wliicli some are chiefly formed to excel, in which they 
are mainly to find their enjoyment, and earn their praise. But if it 
be not fed and illuminated by a due measure of study and medita- 
tion, by frequent and familiar dealing with those high truths in which 
are found the sources of Christian feeling and the springs of Christian 
endeavor, it grows pragmatical and conceited, or else nerveless and 
unsteady ; in fine, becomes a mere superficial imitation and a cheat. 
A Mary, who is always sitting at the feet of Jesus, and never busy in 
the duties of her station, is but a useless visionary and an unprofitable 
dreamer. And a Martha, who to her industry and efficiency in the 
duties of her jfiace, joins a suitable attention to the means of spiritual 
instruction and enlivening, is a far more excellent and attractive speci- 
men of the power of godliness. But a Martha, who is too busy to 
read, to think, to feel, may flourish in a loud and showy profession of 
religion, but she can know little of the true inward power of the 
Christian life. 

An Apostle’s advice runs, “Add to your faith virtue;” but he 
immediately subjoins, “ and to virtue knowledge.” The conjunction 
in neither case is accidental. The divorce which is the opposite of it 
is in either case disastrous. Faith without virtue — that is, a holy 
energy and principle of virtuous action — what is it but a pretty and 
unsubstantial vision ? Virtue without knowledge, not informed by 
those guiding lights which shine upon the path of man from “the 
ingrafted word,” — what is it but a brilliant meteor, erratic, transi- 
tory, deceptive, appearing for a little time, working good, if at all, by 
happy accident, and as often evil under the semblance of good, and 
vanishing at last without enduring or truly valuable fruits. Keligious 
persons of a contemplative cast are always liable to become absorbed 
in barren and unprofitable thought ; and are prone to surround them- 
selves with an atmosphere of dreams, peopled with forms in which 


208 


MARTHA. 


fancy alone has clothed the facts and objects of eternity, and to revel 
in the luxury of religious revery. To such the cares and duties of 
actual life become a burden; the world a huge impertinence, its 
beauties dim, its labors contemptible. Unnerved and inefficient for 
the purposes of their present being, such persons are wholly idle and 
unfruitful in the knowledge of Christ. The proper antagonist and 
remedy of this evil is action. And yet, the balance of the Christian 
character may be as fatally destroyed by an undue leaning in that 
direction. Outward doings may also too much absorb the life ; and, 
under a show of fidelity, and exactness, and industry, without a suffi- 
cient scrutiny of the springs by which they are actuated, pass them- 
selves off for the love and obedience of God, while they generate 
spiritual pride and self-righteousness in the heart. To run the round 
of customary duties with exemplary faithfulness and punctuality, and 
be ever ready to engage in the performance of unusual tasks at the 
bidding of what seems to be religious zeal; and all with so little 
religious reflection or feeling, as to differ little in spirit from the selfish 
and secular activity of the world ; becomes too often a substitute for 
a high principled and enlightened obedience, sometimes in such a 
piivate sphere as Martha’s, sometimes in more public walks and ways. 
The one is what Mary with her tendencies might have been, but was 
not ; the other, what Martha need not have been, but was. 

To woman, as well as to man, there is an active part assigned in the 
business of life. Its special sphere is home, a private, secluded, narrow 
arena of action ; but not on that account the less truly dignified, im- 
portant, and holy. It is her office, in the expressive language of St. 
Paul, to “ guide the house,” to be in her own department its lawgiver, 
pattern, and teacher; and in the direction and performance of the 
duties that specially pertain to it, homely and humble though they 
be in outward guise, to put forth an influence most powerful and 


MARTHA. 


209 


salutary, fraught with good not only to households, but to states 
and nations, pertaining not merely to time but to eternity. Therein 
lies her true happiness, usefulness, and glory. How much the forma- 
tion of character in the young, and the effective exercise of the 
powers in the more mature life of husbands, sons, and brothers, 
depends upon the order and comfort of the domestic state, as they are 
infused into it and maintained in it by the pervading presence and 
ii-resistible influence of wise, faithful, virtuous womanhood, who can 
tell ? It is the woman who “ openeth her mouth with wisdom,” and 
whose “ tongue is the law of kindness who “ looketh well to the 
ways of her household, and eateth' not the bread of idleness whose 
“ husband,” or son, or brother, as it may be, cheered by her sympathy, 
strengthened by her counsel, animated by her example, “ is known in 
the gates when he sitteth among the elders of the land ;” is the useful 
and respected, oftentimes the eminent and distinguished citizen. On 
the other hand, not a few of the failures, not a little of the vice that 
deform and sadden the face of society, are fairly attributable to the 
discomfoi’ts and discouragements of a home rendered repulsive by 
female levity, inanity, negligence and foUy. Neatness, order, dili- 
gence and skill in the appropriate offices of her station, are woman’s 
richest ornaments, of great price in the sight of God and of man. 
Never let her scorn, then, that in which lies her true respectability 
and power ; in the possession and enjoyment of which she need not 
envy kings and sages, clothed with an influence more effectual and 
benign than theirs. Let her never stoop to be an idle toy and 
embellishment, to waste her life in dawdling and frivolity, and think 
it dignity. Nor let her aim at a glory, which indeed is no glory, in 
seeking to be that which Providence never meant her to be — the 
rival of man in the different but not more honorable functions of his 
station. Ah! home, — here is woman’s sphere; and in it her work 


210 


MARTHA. 


her honor, and her usefulness. Let her not despise it, nor fill it 
slightingly. Let none contemn her in it. There is a beauty and a 
true nobility in it, well and faithfully occupied, which leaves her 
nought to desire, and man nothing to disdain. 

But then, the sphere of woman’s influence and honor, is also her 
theatre of exposure and peril. So indeed it is with every condition 
of life. Her dangers arise out of her duties. Her diflSculty lies in 
the necessity of being at once “ not slothful in business,” and “ fer- 
vent in spii’it” in “serving the Lord;” to serve, and, if need be, 
serve much, and not be “ cumbered about much serving ;” to attend 
to many things, and not be sinfully “ careful and troubled about many 
things,” and slacken her regard for that “one thing” which is alone 
essentially “ needful ;” to be a Martha in her diligence, and not to be 
a Martha in her undue engrossment and solicitude. Ah ! this is the 
Christian woman’s danger, — in the cares of a wife, a mother, the 
mistress of a household, to grow unspiritual and worldly ; to forget 
the keeping of her heart, and, priding herself on the exactness and 
fidelity with which she discharges the duties of her place, grow self- 
satisfied in herself, and captious in regard to others. The remedy is 
to be found in an equally punctual and diligent regard for the duties 
of private religion, in sitting daily at the feet of Jesus to hear his 
word ; and going daily to the throne of his heavenly grace for light, 
refreshment, and strength. “ Martha ! Martha ! thou art careful and 
troubled about many things. One thing is needful ; and Mary hath 
chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.” 


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MARY MAGDALENE. 


BY NICHOLAS MURRAY, D. D. 

The Bible contains many brilliant narratives of tbe piety, and of tbe 
faith of woman. K first in transgression, she has never been last in 
the works of faith, and labor of love. Nobly has she labored under 
both dispensations, and in every age, to erase jfrom the earth the traces 
of the curse of which she was to so great a degree the cause. In that 
brilliant chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews, in which Paul so 
eloquently depicts the power of faith, we find the name of Sarah on 
the same roll with that of Enoch, Noah and Abraham ; — and that of 
Kahab with those of Moses, and Joseph, and Joshua, and Gideon, and 
Samuel, and David. And may it not be that it was in a wise defer- 
ence to Eastern feeling as to woman, that he omits the names of 
Rachel, and Jochebed, and Hannah, and Esther, and Ruth, and 
Deborah, and Abigail, and the woman of Shunem, when he crowds 
into such a glorious galaxy the names of so many men whose faith 
was no more illustrious than theirs ? Woman illustrates every page 
of Jewish history by her courage, fortitude, and faith. 

And such also is the fact, as to the New Testament history. Com- 
mencing with Mary, the mother of our Lord, what a remarkable 


212 


MAKY MAGDALENE. 


display of faith, fidelity, and heroic devotion, do we find in the females 
connected with the history of Christ and his Apostles, and with the 
collecting and planting of the first churches! Every where, kind 
and attentive to the Saviour, — every where, sitting under his teach- 
ing — along the whole track of his public ministry seeking from him 
cures for their sick, with characteristic earnestness, — last at the cross, 
first at the grave, — every where, the helpers of the Apostles in their 
arduous labors, the Christian Scriptures bear the most emphatic 
testimony to the heroism of their faith. And, perhaps, in all the 
Bible there is not a woman whose faith and piety shine more brightly 
than do those of Mary Magdalene, whose simple and beautiful history 
as di-awn by the “ beloved disciple,” we have in the 20th chapter of 
the Gospel of St. John. 

To a brief history of this woman, and a brief statement of the 
lessons which it teaches, we now invite the attention of our readers. 

She is called Magdalene, because she resided in the little village of 
Magdala, which lay on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, where it is 
said, she was a plaiter of hair for vain and wicked women. So great 
a sinner was she, that she is said to have been possessed by “ seven 
devils,” which were cast out by the Saviour. This some interpret 
literally ; others, figuratively, as expressive of her great sinfulness and 
forgiveness. She was, doubtless, the woman who in the house of 
Simon, the Pharisee, washed the feet of Jesus with her tears, and 
wiped them with the hafr of her head. Simon thought that the 
admission of her to such familiarity was an evidence, either that the 
Saviour knew not her character, or that he was not sufficiently strict 
in his conduct. This was the occasion of the inimitable parable of 
the “ two debtors.” She was forgiven much, and she loved much. 
After her conversion she attended him on his journeys, and ministered 
to him of her substance. She attended him on his last journey from 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


213 


Galilee to Jerusalem, and was a deeply affected witness of all the 
scenes connected with his death. She was among the disciples who 
thronged the hall of the High Priest during his trial, and her heart 
melted, like wax before the flame, when she heard the Holy One con- 
demned to death on peijured testimony. She followed hbn to the 
cross. And as she looked upon the dying struggle, and heard the 
words, “ it is flmshed,” uttered by his parched and quivering lips, — 
and saw him bow his head, and give up the ghost, her love was 
kindled into a flame. 

The crucifixion scene is over. The tragedy of Calvary closes amid 
the hiding of the light of the sun, and the convulsions of nature, and 
the coming forth of the dead ! Jesus died the just for the unjust. 
And whilst his body is taken in one direction for its burial, Mary 
retires in another, to prepare and mix spices and ointments for 
embalming it. She poured precious ointment upon him w hils t living ; 
he is not to be forgotten now that he is dead. “ Many waters cannot 
quench love, neither can the floods drown it.” 

Men cannot tell us what it is to love. They might as well attempt 
to paint a sound. It is an affection which demonstrates its own 
power ; and the force of that demonstration is only known by those 
in whose bosom the affection lives. Love knows no fear. No barrier 
can arrest it. Through floods and flames it wiQ press its way in the 
pursuit of its object. And the love of woman is proverbially 
strong. That of Mary bore her above all fear. The sepulchre where 
Jesus was laid was removed at some distance fi’om the city ; and 
regardless of aU danger she went forth, whilst it was yet dark, on the 
first day of the week, to his grave. Alone, she went through the 
silent streets — to a spot particularly gloomy, and where even the 
philosophic mind is fiUed with fairy visions — and to a grave guarded 
by Roman soldiers, and that she might find in the place of the dead 
28 


214 


MAKY MAGDALENE. 


the body of her Lord. Finding the stone removed from the sepulchre, 
and the body of Jesus not there, overwhelmed with sorrow, she ran 
to his disciples, saying, “ They have taken away the Lord, and we 
know not where they have laid him.” How often do we sorrow over 
that which should be a cause of joy ! The disciples, excited by the 
narrative, run to the sepulchre, and find the fact to be as stated by 
Mary. Peter seems, at first, to have doubted : “ for as yet they knew 
not the Scriptures, that he must rise from the dead.” And having 
satisfied themselves that Jesus was risen, and having now received the 
doctrine of the resurrection as actually achieved, “ the disciples went 
again to their own homes.” 

But how different is the conduct of Mary ! Moved by stronger 
affection, she remained behind — chained to the spot where her 
Saviour had lain. The picture as drawn by the beloved disciple, is 
touching in the extreme : — “ She stood without at the sepulchre, 
weeping ; and as she wept, she stooped down and looked into the 
sepulchre.” What a subject for the pencil of an Angelo ! The 
beloved of her soul was crucified, and her heart was broken. There 
was the spot where had lain his bleeding and torn body. The very 
spot had a charm for her. Others might go away, and amid other 
scenes and duties find a balm for their wounded spirits ; but to Mary 
the very grave of her Lord was dear ; and thinking that, after all, 
his body might be there, she stooped down and looked into it. 
Although deserted by others, and surrounded by dangers calculated 
to excite her timid heart, yet so completely was she occupied by sor- 
rows for her Saviour as to be regardless of all else. 

WLilst thus weeping, stooping, desponding, angelic voices address 
her from the sepulchre, saying, “ Woman, why weepest thou ? ” “ Be- 

cause they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they 
have laid him,” was the prompt and sorrowing reply. When speak- 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


215 


ing to tlie disciples it was “ the Lord now it is “ my Lord.” Love is 
appropriating. Turning round she sees in the gray twilight of the 
morning the outlines of a man, who asks in rapid succession, “Woman, 
why weepest thou ? Whom seekest thou ?” Supposing him to be the 
gardener, she thus passionately addresses him: “Sir, if thou have 
borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take 
him away.” Jesus said unto her, “ Mary.” Startled into ecstasy by 
the well-known voice, and turning round, she rushes towards him, 
crying out, “Rabboni, which is to say. Master.” What a subject 
again, for the pencil of an Angelo ! Forbidding her to touch him, 
and having announced to her his resurrection, he sent her to his dis- 
ciples with this message : “ Go to my brethren, and say unto them, I 
ascend unto my Father, and your Father, to my God, and your God.” 
And with her tears all wiped away, and her heart relieved fi’om the 
weight of its sorrows, and her countenance radiant with commiugling 
joy and hope, she announced to the disciples that she had seen the 
Lord, and told them the things that he had spoken to her. 

We shall now state a few of the lessons taught by this remarkable 
narrative of this most interesting woman. 

I. It teaches us the true effect of saving grace upon the conduct. 
By saving grace we mean the work of the Spirit renewing the soul 
after the image of God. This work of the Spirit not only enlightens 
the understanding so that spiritual things are seen in a true light, but 
it also gives the will and the affections an irresistible inclination 
towards them. It is above nature, it is above moral suasion ; it is the 
effect of the power which created the world. 

Connected with this subject, are many questions difficult of 
solution. What is the spmt of man? How does God act upon 
spirit ? In what does the change consist ? Christ thus answers these 
and similar questions : — “ The wind bloweth where it listeth, and 


216 


MAEY MAGDALENE. 


thou liearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh 
or whither it goeth ; so is every one that is born of the Spirit.” That 
is, you may be ignorant as to the causes and course of the winds, but 
you see their effects. They move the trees of the forest; — they lash 
the ocean into tempest. The evidences of their power are not un- 
fi’equently strown over earth and ocean. And such is the fact as to 
the Divine influence upon the soul. We may not understand the 
method of its operation, but the results are read of all men. 

How strongly is all this illustrated in the case of Mary ! She is 
described as a poor woman, in the lowest condition of her sex ; 
whose sins were of a crimson dye ; as bodily and spiritually under the 
dominion of Satan. But the possessed of seven devils is made a 
subject of grace, and an heir of glory. And how great the change 
in her conduct ! With the entire devotion of her whole heart, she 
attended upon her Lord. His feet she washed with her mingling 
tears of pity and joy, and wiped them with the hair of her head, 
which is the glory of woman. Nor did her affection for him abate 
when he was accused as a melefactor — when condemned for blas- 
phemy — when crucifled between two thieves. She was last at the 
cross ; and having prepared spices for his embalming, she was first at 
his grave, to perform this last act of affection. The darkness of the 
night — the danger of the way — the distance from the city — the 
loneliness of the place — the presence of a rude soldiery excited no 
fear. No danger could deter her from manifesting her love for her 
Lord. And such, in -kind, is the effect of saving gi-ace upon all 
hearts. And multitudes of her sex, in every age, have manifested a 
devotion to the Saviour of men only less conspicuous than that of 
Mary because less known. 

H. It teaches its the honor with which God crowns the exercises of 
simple faith. Faith is the saving grace. This truth cannot be too 


MAKY MAGDALENE. 


217 


often asserted in a world where the human heart so universally 
inclines to the doctrine of merit. “He that believeth in the Lord 
J esus Christ shall be saved and every instance of the simple 
exercise of faith, should be held forth for univeraal instruction and 
imitation. 

The case of Mary is a beautiful illustration of it. Her sins were 
great, but they were freely forgiven. And from the hour of her 
forgiveness until she passes from our view, her simple faith is con- 
spicuous. She followed her Saviour through Judea, sitting at his feet 
whenever he spoke the words of truth ; his instructions falling upon 
her soul as the rain upon the mown grass. When her Lord was 
accused as a malefactor, her faith never wavered. She followed him 
to the hall of Pilate, and to the summit of Calvary. And when the 
last deep groan by which his sufferings were brought to a termination, 
escaped his lips, and his head bowed in death, her faith failed not. 
WTien the unbelieving Jews wagged their heads in derision — when 
the sorrowing disciples went away, not knowing yet but that his 
death was the end of all they hoped for through him, she stood at a 
distance gazing upon the scene, mourning, but yet believing. There 
she stood until Joseph took his body from the cross. Nor did she 
then go away. She followed in the procession to the new-made tomb 
in the rock, and saw his body wrapped in clean linen and laid away 
to its burial. Whilst these last offices were performing, she, with the 
other Mary, sat over against the sepulchre, weeping, but yet believing. 
Waiting and worshipping through the Sabbath, she hastened to the 
tomb, whilst it was yet dark on the morning of the first day of the 
week, for the purpose of embalming him, undismayed by all the dan- 
gers to which she was exposed. O Mary, great was thy faith ! 

And behold the way in which God honors it. As she approached 
the sepulchre, she found the great stone rolled away from its mouth. 


218 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


Here is one difficulty removed. Looking in vain for her Lord, angels 
announce to ker his resurrection. This glorious truth she is first 
honored in knowing — shfe first announces it to his disciples ! And 
she is honored with the fii'st sight of her risen Lord ! It is expressly 
recorded, that “ he appeared first to Mary Magdalene.” What the 
eye and ear of Jesus had alone seen and heard, he would have 
recorded to the end of the world ; and he would exhibit, in this 
woman, his peculiar regard for the exercise of simple faith under the 
most trying circumstances. And to aU succeeding generations, Mary 
will stand forth a monument of the blessedness of those who, amid 
the trials and discouragements of the present mortal state, exercise a 
simple implicit trust in the Lord. 

The Lord is nigh to all those that call upon him. He has 
graciously promised to be found of all those that seek him aright. 
Though at all times nigh to those that seek him, he is often hidden 
from them behind some providential dispensation ; but he wdl soon 
reveal himself and teach us, as he did Mary, that they who truly seek 
him shall not seek him in vain. Clouds cannot always obscure the 
sun. The anger of a kind father does not always burn. Christ is 
ever more ready to be found of his people, than they are to seek him. 
See him meeting his disciples at the sea when weary with rowing — 
see him meeting with Daniel when weeping and fasting — and with 
John when an exile on Patmos. Mary only sought the dead body of 
her Lord, but she found him alive, for evermore, to the joy and 
rejoicing of her soul ! What encouragements to seek the Lord until 
we find ! Weeping may continue for a night, but joy will come in 
the morning. 

HI. It teaches us the true way of seeking Christ. Wdien found of 
Mary, Christ had but just risen ; he had not yet ascended. With all 
the ardor of her soul, she ran to embrace him ; but he repels her 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


219 


with what appears, at first sight, an unwonted and unnecessary 
abruptness, saying to her, “ Touch me not.” What does this mean ? 
WTiy thus chill the flow of the warm ciirrent of her afiections ? 
Mary, perhaps, felt that it was enough for her to find her risen Lord, 
and was about casting herself at his feet, and clinging to his mere 
bodily presence. But he means to say to her, “ Mary, there is some- 
thing better than my bodily presence, — you must look to a crucified, 
risen, ascended Saviour, and to a sanctifying Spirit. And go tell my 
brethren that I am risen from the dead, — that I am alive for ever- 
more.” This we may regard as the meaning of our Lord, untU we are 
furnished with a better. 

How exactly do Satan, and superstition and error, teach the oppo- 
site of all this ? They endeavor to attract the mind and the heart 
from the spiritual to the visible — from the work of Christ to the 
worship of his pictures, and bowing at his name — from heaven to 
earth — from the truth to the form by which it is expressed. Men 
are fond of gods which they can see; — and, hence, Satan is ever 
dressing up something in gaudy trappings, and covering it with gew- 
gaws, and calling it by a religious name, and is ever saying to our 
sensual race, “ these be thy gods, O Israel.” But of his devices in 
these respects we should not be ignorant. To seek Christ aright, we 
must not look for him in the tomb — nor yet uj)on the cross — nor 
yet in the flesh. We must seek him in his word — and rest upon his 
finished work — and trust to his aU prevalent intercession.. Many, 
like Mary, would cling to his person and presence, but his work for us, 
and the work of his Spirit in us, alone avail in our behalf as sinners. 

In every age, the character of a consummate general and victorious 
leader of armies, has been the glory of man. To return from the 
field of battle, wearing the wreath of victory, has been considered 
immortality sufficient. And those who have attained this character. 


220 


MAKY MAGDALENE. 


have revelled amid the adorations of the multitude. Such was an 
Alexander, who, after conquering the world, sighed for other worlds 
to conquer. Such w^ a Caesar, who, after subduing the enemies of 
his country, enslaved Rome. Such was a Bonaparte, 


“ the man of thousand thrones, 

Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,” 

and who, by the splendor and rapidity of his achievements, filled the 
world with his fame. The glory of influencing men by the powers of 
eloquence, in the Senate house, the Legislative hall, or in the assemblies 
of the people, has been intensely sought by man. Amd a few have 
attained it. The names of a Demosthenes and a Cicero have become 
household words. The one awoke Greece to concert against P hili p ; 
— the other saved his country from the arts of a Catiline. And the 
forensic fame of a Burke, a Pitt, a Fox, a Henry, a Pinckney, has gone 
out into all the earth. So the possession of wealth, because of the 
pomp and circumstance which it sustains, has been the glory of man. 
And to obtain it men have dared all dangers, and have searched aU 
climes. But grace is the glory of woman. A true and fervent faith 
is her crown of glory. These raised Mary from the lowest position of 
her sex, to the very highest to which mortals ever attain. Without 
these, all the other accomplishments of woman are but “ as the flower 
of the grass.” 






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New-^rk.D. Appleton 8c C? SOO.Bioaiiway 


BATHSHEBA. 


BY REV. R. S. STORRS, JR. 


There are some persons the sketch of whose character and history, 
though unaccompanied, perhaps, by a line of description, presents 
them to our thoughts with almost the distinctness of a visible 
Presence. We have never seen them. We have no means of 
verifying or amending the conception we have formed. Yet that 
conception is so definite, the image presented to the m i n d is so vivid 
and personal, that we rely on its correctness, and should be materially 
disturbed in our associations by finding it erroneous. Sometimes 
these persons are contemporaneous with ourselves, but remote from 
us in space: — the celebrated men of other countries; the lovely or 
heroic women, whose acts of piety and charity, or of literary devotion, 
are to be gems in the records of distant nations. More often they are 
those of other centuries ; who long ago passed into “ the dark Back- 
ward, and Abysm of time,” and of whom there remain but few 
memorials. They are not, usually, persons whose history has been 
recorded with great minuteness of detad. They are those, rather, the 
prominent scenes of whose tragic or brilliant life have been graphically 
outlined by a few swift touches of the recording pen, and who thus 


29 


222 


BATHSHEBA. 


stand before our tbongbts, against the background of distance or of 
tbe past, like the figures portrayed in tbe illustrations of Eetzscb. . 

One of these pei-sons, whose image becomes continually clearer to 
om’ thoughts as we contemplate her history, is Bathsheba, the 
subject of this sketch; the daughter of Eliam — or, as the name was 
sometimes reversed, Ammiel; the bride of Uriah; the wife subse- 
quently of David; and the mother of Solomon, his favorite and 
successor. The record concerning her is exceedingly brief. It occupies 
scarcely a twelfth part of a single one of the thirty-nine books of the 
Old Testament. Yet it is so dense, so graphic, so full of life, so singu- 
larly impressive in its sketch of her history, that before we are aware, 
as we meditate upon it, her image is before us. As in the magical 
goblet of the Eastern sage, the patient gazer was said to discern in the 
perturbed solution the features and forms of the absent and the lost ; 
so, as we look into the narrative of Bathsheba, from out the crowd 
of whii’ling and confused images pertaining to the same era, passing 
like spectral shadows before the mind, hers is evolved. Silently, but 
clearly, it separates from the rest. The fruitful suggestions of the 
record, with our knowledge of the customs of the country and the 
age, bring her almost in presence to the eye. 


******* 


Her father’s name was Eliam — “the servant of God;” and she 
was “ very beautiful to look upon.” It requires then but slight efltbrt 
of the imagination to see her, first, a blithe and beautiful maiden in 
the household of her father. It is a household in which the fear of 
God is a pervasive principle ; in which the worship of God is a daily 
enjoyment. He who is its head, with the fresh and simple piety of 


BATHSHEBA. 


223 


the primitive ages, sees God in. all things. To him the wonderful 
theophanies of the past, — the pillar of cloud and fire that shed its 
brightness upon the Syrian sands, the manifested splendor of Deity 
upon the reeling top of Sinai, the fall of the walls of- Jericho before 
the invisible Omnipotence that beleaguered them — are not legends 
or myths, but stupendous realities. To him it is the Lord that 
thunders in the heavens. The rain and sunshine come from God’s 
hand. The earth is all, to him, a temple of the Highest ; made won- 
derful and sacred by the presence of Jehovah. 

Within this family Bathsheba has grown up. The influences of its 
peaceful and godly life have passed into her heart. The gay vivacity 
of early girlhood has deepened by degrees into maturity of emotion. 
An added and beautiful thoughtfulness begins to shed its light on 
her daily activities. As she bends over the eight-stringed harp — 
Sheminith ; as she folds upon her head the luxuriant tresses of the 
East, in the fashion of the Hebrew maidens, or interweaves them with 
gold and gems, or binds them with the fillet ; as she speeds the distaff 
with nimble hand, in spinning the cotton or linen threads that shall 
be wrought into clothing for the household, or weaves the tapestries 
for the couches, or silently embroiders with scarlet and golden threads 
the woven stuffi ; as she decks herself with the raiment of brilliant 
white, or with the ornaments at that time appropriate to her sex — 
the bracelets and necklaces of gold, the embossed girdle, the pendants 
of pearl; — still are her thoughts upon the future, more than the 
present. The mantling flush, upon the cheek whose hue the sun has 
deepened and enriched, speaks of hope and fear striving together ; 
of pure reserve, and maidenly sensibility. And as we hear through 
the latticed window her rich and swaying voice, she is singing the 
hymns of her nation, and its majestic psalms. 

So, like the star that heralds the morning, in dewy freshness, in 


224 


BATHSHEBA. 


calm and beaming beauty, arises before us the image of the beautiful 
daughter of Eliam — God’s servant. 

******* 

We meet her, next, at just that point where the record of the 
Scriptures concerning her distinctly commences ; where her personal 
history, as disconnected from her father’s, comes clearly into view. 
The marriage with Uriah has been accomplished. The solemn cove- 
nant has been made ; the marriage-gifts have been exchanged ; and 
she has been brought, with the attendant and rejoicing bands of 
youths and maidens, to her new home. The gallant Hittite, descended 
from the tribe originally possessed of Hebron and its vicinity, has 
gained for himself this maiden of Israel. A proselyte, doubtless, to 
the faith of her people ; a man of rank and intelligence, and of tried 
prowess in war, he had stood almost thirty years before among the 
mighty men who were the reliance and strength of the youthful 
David. A generous, chivalrous, and self-sacrificing soldier, as his 
whole history shows him to have been, it is easy to perceive that the 
gentle and graceful Bathsheba is now the light of his home, and the 
chief jewel of his heart. Though younger than himself, probably by 
many years, her affections are fastening themselves around him like 
the vine around the tower. The retiring, half-timid reverence which 
is mingled with this affection, as the dark leaf of the honeysuckle 
with its brilliant and fragrant blossoms, is nowise inappropriate to 
the period and the sex. He is to her an honor and a defence ; and 
“ he is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders.” And 
she, in turn — what is she unto him, that stalwart and hard-nerved 
soldier ? In the touching and beautiful words with which Nathan 
described her — she is “the one little ewe lamb, which he has brought 


BATHSHEBA. 


225 


up and nourislied ; wliich lies in his bosom, and is to him as a 
daughter.” They are established at Jerusalem ; not far, probably, 
from the royal palace. 

And now commences that terrible succession of crimes, which 
stands in the history of David as a perpetual monitor against trans- 
gression ; which fuimished the occasion for the bursting outgush of 
humiliation and penitence in the fifty-first Psalm, and which was fol- 
lowed so swiftly and so long by the judgments of Jehovah. While 
his army is at a distance, besieging Kabbah, the river-encircled capital 
of the Ammonites, he is idling at home in luxurious ease. In the exer- 
cise of oriental sovereignty, and under the fearful systems of polygamy 
and concubinage, he has been long accustumed to gratify his passions, 
almost without restraint or limit. The fear of God has thus for the 
time lost all control over his purposes. His very conscience has be- 
come numbed, and blinded to the majesty of virtue. His soul, gi’own 
clotted by contagion, has lost not only 

“ the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever," 


but almost 

“ The divine property of her first being.” 

As he walks thus at evening, upon the elevated floor surmounting 
the palace, he sees the beautiful bride of Uriah, as she issues from the 
bath; and his passion is roused into dominion and mastery. The 
demands of honor and of religion, of God and duty, are all forgotten ; 
and with an exercise of that arbitrary authority to this day not un- 
common among the despotic princes of the East “ he sent mes- 

sengers, and took her ” to his own house. 

The subsequent incidents in the melancholy history are too 


226 


BATHSHEBA. 


familiar to need recital. Before tlie open and sensitive conscience, 
contemplating calmly the history of David, they stamp themselves on 
the record, like letters of phosphoric fire fiashing in darkness. The 
noble Uriah, summoned suddenly from the camp that he might be 
made the unconscious concealer of the royal shame, was found too 
sensitive to the impulses of a delicate and chivalrous honor to suit the 
purposes of the guilty king. He was therefore miserably betrayed to 
be murdered, at the royal command. After his death, Bathsheba was 
taken openly to the house of David ; and it was not till the prophet 
had fearlessly rebuked him, and the child that had been born to him 
was smitten unto death, that the king awoke to a consciousness of the 
accumulated and ineffaceable crimes which were to be to him thence- 
forth a crown of pain, and in the memory of which the sword was 
never to depart from his house. Then Bathsheba had become his 
wife ; and she was afterwards the mother of several of his sons. 

Through all these terrible scenes she stands before us, more sinned 
against than sinning. If we could fully transport ourselves, in thought, 
into the spirit and life of thirty centuries ago, we should probably 
feel more for her of compassion than of blame. We should find, if 
not that physical violence was used against her, yet that the awful 
majesty, the almost visible divinity, that to the Hebrew matron hedged 
round the king — his mighty power, and God-derived authority — 
the seeming sanctity that invested him, as one anointed by God 
himself, as one admitted so often into communion with Jehovah, as 
one enshrined before the nation in the guardianship of Providence — 
bore down her spirit into passive and dumb acquiescence ; that the 
crime was his, and the endurance hers. The fact that aU the weight 
of censure is cast on him, prompts this conclusion. There is nothing 
recorded or intimated of her previous history, which should lead us 
to doubt this. “ She mourned for her husband,” when she heard that 


U A T II S II E B A . 


227 


he was dead. She was received with honor into the family of the 
king. The training of Solomon, according to the Eahbins, was com- 
mitted especially to her ; and her name is recorded, among the four 
names of females, in the genealogy of the Saviour. We are warranted, 
therefore, in believing that she suffered wrong rather than did it ; 
and that the purity of her character was not destroyed, by all the 
storm of passion which burst so furiously upon the current of her 
history. 

As we think of her at its end, the freshness and blitheness of her 
youth have gone. Henceforth, there are dread memories in her heart, 
which nothing can efface, or deprive of their bitterness. The lines 
of sori’ow are graven upon the face that was before so fail*. Some 
silvery threads are mingling with the tresses that were so lustrously 
dark. The scarlet and purple robes have taken the place of the 
raiment that was spotlessly white. The more ornamented veil floats 
backward from the brow that has begun to be furrowed ; and the 
sandals are richer, as the step is less elastic. But still can we joyfully 
follow her in our thoughts, through her daily avocations. She medi- 
tates more than formerly upon the sublime poetry of the Hebrews ; 
upon the wonderful records of their inspired books ; upon her own 
relations to God and to the Future. There is something now in her 
image of sorrow and of patience ; something of pleading, even, as if 
for charity and sympathy, and for merciful consideration, that is 
exquisitely touching. 

******* 


Twice, again, does Bathsheba come to our view m the Scriptures. 
Once, it is on that memorable occasion when she went in to the king. 


228 


BATHSHEBA. 


then far advanced in years, and obtained from him the recognition 
and the fulfilment of his promise, that Solomon her son should after 
his death reign in his stead. With an art, doubtless entirely unpre- 
meditated by the narrator, but in the accomplishment of which there 
is a natural poetry outrunning the conceptions of genius, the two 
whose lives have been so tragically forced into one channel are vividly 
associated before us, for the last time, upon the eve of David’s depart- 
ure from life. Upon the issue of the interview, depends the earthly 
destiny of Bathsheba and her son. But with what dignity and 
intelligence she beare herself through it, with what calmness and 
self-possession, blended with a womanly tact and earnestness that 
insure success, who need be told ? 

When we see her again, it is in a single act, that beautifully illus- 
trates her character and her relations to her son, and lets us in, as 
through an open window, upon the customs of the time. The gayety 
and repose of her early days, the stormy scenes of her young woman- 
hood, have all passed by. After a life in parts vivid with piety, but 
in other parts darkened by gross sins, David has gone to meet before 
God the man whom he had murdered ; the man whom, with a shrink- 
ing of heart that will be very suggestive to the thoughtful reader, he 
mentions last in his final recital of his mighty men. The son whom 
she rejoiced in after the death of her first-born, and whom it has been 
her pleasure and care to educate for the kingdom, has grown to man- 
hood, and has taken the sceptre. His kingdom is established. He is 
probably beginning already to meditate the building of the Temple, 
and to give evidence of that singular wisdom and grace, which are to 
win so rapidly the hearts of his people. At just this point comes in 
Bathsheba. She comes upon an errand which indicates her kindness. 

And as she comes “the king rose up to meet her, and bowed 

himself unto her, and sat down on his throne, and caused a seat to be 


BATHSHEBA. 


229 


set for tlie king’s mother ; and she sat on his right hand.” She fails 
in her petition ; for here, as so often elsewhere, the craft of policy is 
too much for the wisdom of kindness. But how beautiful is the scene 
thus opened to our view ! So let her ever abide in our thoughts ; — 
the honored and serene mother of Israel’s wisest king ; a noble calm, 
of gracious and gentle dignity, surrounding her presence ; the visible 
deference of the young monarch, the noblest tribute to her reverend 
character and her maternal faithfulness ; the benign wisdom of hef 
look, contrasted, as the autumn with the spring, vdth the vivacity of 
her girlhood ; the beaming face, the elevated form, the queenly car- 
riage, still reminding us of her who in her woman’s prime “ was very 
beautiful to look upon.” 

Her life has now drawn nigh unto its setting. But a placid 
repose, as of the evening of the day, is entering her heart. And may 
we not believe that as she looks into the Future, although it is not to 
her resplendent as to us under the glory of Christ’s Ascension, it is 
still radiant with God’s promises, as with a thousand stars. 


THE END. 


30 


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